


Teach Me to Breathe Again

by ThisRoseHasAnotherName



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Aftermath of Torture, Awesome Madam Pomfrey, Blood and Torture, Brave Hermione Granger, Crookshanks is a Good Bro, Draco is there too, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Ew, F/M, Gardening, Healing, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger Has PTSD, Hermione Granger Needs Help, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley friendship, Hermione Has Scars, Hermione has nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, I literally hate Bellatrix, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injured Hermione Granger, Insecure Hermione Granger, Is anyone even reading this?, Loads of Angst, Love the Weasleys, Maybe - Freeform, Nice Severus Snape, Nightmares, Of Age Hermione Granger, Oops, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potions, Sad Harry Potter, Scarred Hermione Granger, Severus Snape Needs a Hug, She disgusts me, She's such a mom, Slow Burn, Snape is weirdly sentimental, Somewhere, Summer, Sweet Harry Potter, Therapy, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Touch-Repulsed Hermione Granger, Touch-Starved Hermione Granger, Tried to change it, What a slime ball, Why so I have so many tags???, Women Being Awesome, but he wouldn't, especially me, lol, sea shells, sea side, so that's how he is now, someone tell me to stop, sorry for this, we hate him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2020-10-05 22:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisRoseHasAnotherName/pseuds/ThisRoseHasAnotherName
Summary: An extremely angsty story about how the showdown at the Ministry could have gone. Slight AU, just because the Horcruxes were discovered before/during The Order of the Pheonix.Hermione watched with ever-growing horror as Harry screamed. Screamed for Sirius, screamed for his pain, screamed for the injustice of being left alone again. Hot tears dripped down her face as she saw his heart breaking.But she, too, was in danger.





	1. The Cold Bite of a Poisoned Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I don't know how many people are reading this (I know Severus/Hermione is not a very popular ship), but I want to clarify a few things before the story gets started. In canon, Hermione turns sixteen in her fifth year, the year this story starts off. I am including her use of the time-turner to make her almost eighteen, just because I will never read or write a story with an underage couple. Just to be clear: HERMIONE IS AN OFFICIAL ADULT.  
Also, this story starts out pretty graphic. There is graphic torture in the first two chapters, and recovery takes place after. Hermione was raped in this story, but it wasn't directly said. 
> 
> TW: Rape, Torture, death of a loved one. (Comment if I should add anything to the list, please. I want everyone to be safe.)
> 
> PLEASE do not read if you think it could be triggering for you. I want people to enjoy my stories, not be hurt by them. 
> 
> If you decide to stay, please enjoy! This story is a way to help me sort out my own feelings. If you don't like it, don't read it. I am in no way, shape, or form JK Rowling. All recognizable characters and places, etc., belong to her.

Hermione watched with ever growing horror as Harry screamed. Screamed for Sirius, screamed for his pain, screamed for the injustice of being left alone again. Hot tears dripped down her face as she saw his heart breaking.

But she, too, was in danger.

The cold bite of Bellatrix’s blade was digging into the soft skin of her throat, beading sickenly warm droplets of blood on the surface. Behind her, a laugh was growing in Bellatrix’s chest, the amused, belly-deep laugh of the insane. As it spilled from her lips into Hermione’s ear, the shaking dug the knife ever further into her skin. Everyone was frozen, watching in shared mute horror as Remus held Harry back from the veil with sheer strength.

And Hermione was still in danger.

Bellatrix’s laugh finally settled to an amused chortle as she started dragging Hermione back towards the exit.

“No,” Hermione said, trying to blink the blinding tears out of her eyes. “No!” she called.

That finally caught the attention of the Order members. They quickly sprung into action, aiming their wands directly at the pair.

Bellatrix wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Stop, or she dies!” she boomed.

Each and every person froze their movements as Bellatrix dug the knife further yet, cackling when Hermione’s mouth dropped open in a silent cry. The cut was streaming out warm blood, and Hermione was almost convinced her throat would be slit if it went any deeper.

Bellatrix drug them closer still to the exit.

“Hermione, no!” Harry yelled, struggling more against Remus, his tears flying off his face with the force of his jerks. “Let her go!”

Bellatrix laughed her belly deep laugh. “I’m afraid not. The Dark Lord will have fun with this one! How does it feel, Potter, to lose your godfather and best friend...in the same night?”

Harry growled - literally growled - and redoubled his struggles.

Hermione was breathing as shallowly as she could, each inhale a deeper sting in her throat. She blinked away the last of her tears and the room came into focus once more. The veil, sitting tall on the dial in the center of the room, the people staring in wide-eyed horror as they watched their friend and comrade being dragged from the room by an insane Death Eater.

Hermione caught Neville’s eye as she was pulled through the door. He was scared, she could just tell, but his face was determined, sending strength her way. Before she could decipher what it meant, she was pulled headfirst out of the room. The last thing she saw was Harry, pushing against Remus’s chest, still screaming for her.

*

Hermione doubled over as far as she could, coughing out the ash she’d breathed in on her Floo trip to Malfoy Manor. When she’d heard the destination, her heart had sunk straight into the hearth. She’d heard Draco brag about it being unplottable for years and her hope of a rescue sunk ever lower. But then she’d remembered Neville’s silent support and determination that could only mean one thing - they were going to try their best to come for her.

So she was going to try her very best to be alive when they arrived.

Jeers met her ears as she was tugged, this time by the hair, to the utter relief of her windpipe, into what she assumed was a ballroom. Death Eaters lined the walls, all in black robes, and none with masks, to her relief. If - when - she got out of here, she’d be able to tell Dumbledore who the Death Eaters were. She then remembered Professor Snape and his spy status. Of course, Dumbledore already knew who the Death Eaters were - he had a spy in their ranks.

Oh, but Professor Snape! If he were to come then maybe he’d take her away, and she’d be back at Hogwarts and not have dozens of leering men and women appraising her, looking her up and down with disgust in their eyes - but no. His spy status was worth more than just her life, she knew that. Even as it panged in her chest, she knew he wouldn’t - couldn’t - save her.

That was okay, she told herself. She would be brave, she managed to convince herself. She’d be strong until either she found a way out (even then she knew it was more unlikely than a Blast-Ended Skrewt that didn’t explode) or someone came for her. She knew they’d try, oh yes, they’d try, even if just to keep Harry from going out on his own to get her. But would they succeed?

Everything in Hermione froze as she took in the sight at the front of the room. Red eyes were among the sets appraising her. Red, red eyes. Eyes should never be that color, she thought, eyes should never be the color of blood, of murder, of anger.

And then those eyes met hers.

And the world exploded.

Fire in her head, all thought vanishing except for how does Harry do this so often? Memories flashing through her mind, her and Harry and Ron sitting in the common room in their favorite chairs by the fire, her watching Harry with concern as he trudged into the Great Hall for breakfast, looking like he hadn’t slept at all, Harry screaming as Sirius fell through the veil, and of course, he wants information about Harry. She focused as much as she could and pushed with all her might against the slimy, disturbing, violating, huge presence in her mind. It disgusted her, and he felt that.

As he left her mind, Hermione’s senses came back to her. She was on her knees in front of Bellatrix, being held up by her hair. That pain just managed to mingle with the new pain in her head. Voldemort was laughing, a high, cruel laugh that mixed with the Death Eater’s laughs reverberating around the room.

“Well, well, Hermione.” Her name slithered out of his thin lips without permission. “I’m impressed. Shall we see what you know about the infamous Order of the Phoenix? We will get to your lovely Mr. Potter soon, don’t worry. I do hope you know something of use,” he hissed.

“I know many things, Tom, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” Hermione tossed out shakily. She was shocked at her own ability to speak.

Hisses and protests rang throughout the room until Voldemort raised his hand to silence them. He smirked down at her from his throne-like seat at the head of the room, making her stomach twist.

“Dumbledore would be proud of you, no doubt. Just as disrespectful as Harry Potter. Surely you must know my name is Lord Voldemort? Harry is quite adamant about calling me Voldemort whenever he sees me. I will admit, it does grate on my nerves to hear my name coming from his mouth.” He leaned back in his seat. “I hope I can convince you to call me ‘my Lord’. I will not tolerate disrespect, Hermione. Say it. Say ‘my Lord’.”

Hermione stared up at him with her chin raised, staring him in the eye. “I think Tom suits you better.”

She was not prepared for what came next.

White hot pain in every inch of her body, her mind going absolutely blank except for the agony coursing through her very veins. Some part of her recognized her own voice screaming as she’d never screamed before but she couldn’t have stopped it even if she’d wanted to. Her already aching head was going to explode, surely this was death, this sort of pain could only mean the end -

And it was over. She lay with her cheek pressing down on the cold, hard floor, more laughter ringing out. I’d like to see you laugh after you feel that. Panting, she rose shakily to her knees and then her feet.

“Definitely a Tom,” she said hoarsely.

“You dare?” Bellatrix hissed. She snatched a handful of frizzy hair and yanked, tilting Hermione’s head back, exposing her bloody throat.

“My faithful Death Eaters,” Voldemort called. “I think the Mudblood needs help loosening her tongue. Who will volunteer for this task?”

“Me, my Lord,” Bellatrix called out in a husky voice. “I volunteer for this task.”

Around the room, volunteers offered their services. Hermione shivered in horror at what was to come, though she couldn’t have known.

“Dear Bellatrix,” Voldemort said in the warmest voice Hermione ever heard from his mouth. “You will start. Do what you must, but leave her eyes. I want to tell Potter that his Mudblood pet was looking at me when she finally succumbed to the torture.”

“Anything, my Lord,” she simpered in a disgustingly sultry voice.

She let go of Hermione’s hair with a shove and stepped around to face her. Hermione had to stuff down a whimper when the wicked silver knife came into view. Bellatrix smirked as she raised her wand, wordlessly creating tight ropes around Hermione, tying her arms to her torso and her legs together.

With a shove to the shoulder, Hermione was flat on her back on the floor, a sick woman above her. Bellatrix straddled Hermione’s waist, lowly chuckling at the younger woman’s shudder.

“This will be fun,” the madwoman intoned playfully. She raised her knife and waved it a few times before Hermione’s face before lowering the tip to her cheekbone.  
Resolution to be brave or not, when the blade cut through the skin to the bone, following it straight to her hairline, tears leaked out.

“Ooooh,” Bellatrix cooed. “Crying already, are we, Mudblood?”

“You all need to work on your insults. Do you think Mudblood is the worst thing I’ve been called today?” Hermione retorted, voice trembling.

In retaliation, Bellatrix copied the movement on her other cheekbone. When the involuntary tears hit the cut it stung like lemon juice. She repeated the technique on her jawline, stopping on both sides before it could reach her chin. When she attacked halfway between her jaw and cheekbone, Hermione was terrified Bellatrix was going to cut through her cheek; she didn’t.

Hermione was given six perfectly symmetrical cuts, but it wasn’t over yet.

Bellatrix’s cold hands opened the buttons on her shirt slowly, so slowly. For the first time, Hermione thrashed in her bindings - no way was this happening, she was not going to be exposed in front of all of these people. The only thing her thrashing accomplished was to anger Bellatrix enough for her to rip the rest of the buttons off completely. The cold air that met her sweating skin was a relief even as dread filled her at the sound of wolf whistles.

Bellatrix leaned her face close - too close - to Hermione’s and she cringed away.

“Be still unless you want to be stuck with this knife!” she yelled. Spit flew from her mouth onto Hermione’s red face.

“Patience, Bella,” Voldemort drawled. “You will get your chance.”

Bellatrix leaned back. “Yes, my Lord.”

She trailed the tip of her knife over each of Hermione’s collar bones, once again cutting down to the bone. Hermione’s breath hitched as cold fingers touched the blood dripping down her chest. The fingers went no further, but they were brought up to her forehead where her blood was smeared roughly across her skin.

Her shirt was pushed to the side and the knife was drawn over each of her ribs. It crossed Hermione’s mind that Bellatrix was so insane she might just consider what she was doing to be art.

Her hips were traced as well before she was blown over onto her stomach. Her breath was definitely coming faster now that she couldn’t see what was coming. Her shoulder blades and spine were traced as well, harder than anything on the front had been. Her tears were constantly coming now, mixing with the blood on the floor where her cheek was pressed.

All of a sudden the tracing changed to drawing. She could tell it was runes that Bellatrix was drawing, but in her pain and fear-addled mind, she couldn’t focus on that. Focus. She needed to focus.

She knew things that would have her killed in an instant after much worse torture than she was currently enduring; she knew this. If Voldemort found out that she knew of his Horcruxes, and the fact that the Order was working towards locating and destroying the rest of them, she had absolutely no hope of escaping alive. She was already disfigured, but she only spared that a moment’s consideration.

She needed to remember all she could about Occlumency. She’d never been taught, but she’d read about it in an attempt to help Harry (and out of curiosity if she was being honest), so she knew the theory. Now she just had to put it into action.

Clear your mind.

What did that even mean? Could ones mind even ever be clear? The brain never stopped working, so to clear it do you focus on just one thing?

Hermione decided to try it.

She focused on the Hogwarts library, walking through the shelves in each section, trying to remember as much as she could. When she had the image firmly in her mind she realized that that was the best she could do as pain seared her back that now had at least a dozen runes strewn down the skin in straight lines.

She also realized that while holding the image in her mind, her breathing was deep and steady. Her fear had left her for a moment.

When Bellatrix stood, laughter rang out. Hermione didn’t even want to know what was written on her skin.

“Well done, Bella,” Voldemort congratulated. “You must be given extra points for creativity. Who is next?”

And that was when the magical torture started. Harsh stinging hexes, slashing hexes that were healed to disgusting scabs before she could properly bleed out, potions that made the blood boil, then freeze, then boil again, and given the antidote before she died. Of course there was the Cruciatus as well, but the Death Eaters seemed to be competing for the most creative techniques.

Some preferred Muggle methods; she now had no fingernails (her toenails were still intact, thank Merlin), a black eye, at least two broken or fractured ribs, still sluggishly bleeding wounds via Bellatrix’s knife, and had almost been drowned three times.

It was just after the latest attempt to drown her that she lay unresponsive on the floor, breathing shallowly as not to aggravate her burning lungs.

“Ah, well,” Voldemort said, mock sympathetically. “It seems we will have to reconvene tomorrow when all parties are...feeling up to it.”

Hermione couldn’t stop shivering. Her throat was burning from both the potions they’d made her ingest and the water inhalation. In fact, there didn’t seem to be anywhere on her entire body that didn’t hurt. There was one thing she could think of that they hadn’t yet done, and she was praying to Merlin that they wouldn’t with all her might. She didn’t know what she would do if they took it, if they made her give it.

“Take her to the cellar. Don’t let her die overnight,” Voldemort called to someone. Hermione didn’t see who, but when she was lifted up into the air she smelled it; musky cologne that on any other day she might have enjoyed, grass, and, oddly, roast beef. She wondered if this Death Eater had just come from dinner. The smell of one of her favorite foods in this place was sickening to her.

She kept her eyes closed as she drifted out of the door and down a set of stairs. She could tell it was getting darker even through her closed lids, and the air was danker too. The smell of the man transporting her grew until that smell overpowered even the mildew of the cellar.

She heard a lock click open and the grate of metal on metal as a door opened. She drifted inside and was unceremoniously dropped onto what felt like a pile of potato sacks.

She felt someone lean close to her face and she recoiled as the smell of roast beef drew closer. It made her think of her mother even as it made the contents of her stomach curdle.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, princess,” a deep, raspy voice spoke. “Don’t scream.”

And then he took it.

And so it continued. Every day she refused to speak, and every day Voldemort was shoved as unceremoniously out of her mind as she was dropped onto the ground at the end of the days torture session. Voldemort truly was an arrogant man, if he could indeed be called one. He spoke of how he would break her while his Death Eaters did the dirty work. And every night the man visited her. Sometimes Voldemort visited as well, just so he could spring a surprise attack on her when she woke up. He almost got information about the Horcruxes the first night, but after that Hermione only let herself drift off halfway. She knew she was weakening.

And after a long, horrendous eight days, the end came.


	2. Last Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Snape arrives - with help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive feedback! * !@#$ * Means mental speak.

Narcissa Malfoy was always the one to come and fetch her for the day (and brought water, which Hermione hazily thought was nice of her), but on the last day, it was Draco. As soon as he opened the door to her cell, he spoke.

“How good are your Occlumency shields?” he asked quietly, shoving a flask into her swollen hands. 

She just held it. She knew this trick; they’d offer your water and it would turn out to be another torturous poison meant to dissolve you from the inside out.

“Good enough to keep out your Lord,” she sneered through strained vocal cords. If he was surprised by the new sound of her potion-abused voice he didn’t show it. 

She was dumbfounded by the relief on his face. 

“Good. Listen up, Granger, we have about ninety seconds before someone comes looking for us.” He glanced behind him towards the stairs. “The Order is on the way.”  
Hermione’s heart started beating faster in anticipation, even as she searched his face as well as she could with two black eyes for any sign of a lie.  
“I know you must be tired, and I know you feel the opposite of good if the state of your face is anything to go on, but I promise I will do my best to help you today. Just remember, the Order is coming. Drink that. It’s just sugar water, I swear on my magic.”

Hermione eyed him and decided to risk it. Even if it killed her, it would be better than going through it all again. But, if he was right and the Order was coming, she really wanted to be there for it. Plus, she had a fever and she needed water soon. She mentally shrugged and tipped the flask back, first rinsing her mouth and spitting to the side to rid as much blood as she could out of her mouth and then taking several swallows in quick succession. She forced the nausea that caused behind her Occlumency shields.  
She flinched when he grabbed her arm to drag her up the stairs to the ballroom. “Why are you helping me?” she asked hoarsely.

“No one deserves this, Granger. I never wanted to be this person.” He paused before the door to the ballroom. “I’m going to warn you, Granger. Professor Snape is here and he brought more potions. He told me they are at their least potent, but they will still hurt if you take them, alright? Just hold on.”

And then they were inside. 

As she was painfully frogmarched to the center of the room she slammed her Occlumency shields up as high as she could and still function. She’d discovered quite accidentally that she could disappear behind her barriers completely if she raised them too high. She purposefully did not seek out Professor Snape. Even with her Occlumency, she didn’t want to risk showing her relief. 

Draco abruptly let go of her arms and wiped his hands on his front with a sneer like she had some kind of catching disease. With the amount of infection in her wounds, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was truly disgusted; she knew she was. She was quite a sight, dressed only in her bloody button-down shirt that was stuck to the cuts on her back and her underwear.

Voldemort’s mental attack came first. She flinched as he tore like a wild animal at her walls, losing herself even more into her library image. It felt like he was scraping her skull with a butcher knife. Soon, he slowed his attack and looked for any weaknesses that he could possibly slip through. There were none.

“I must admit I’m surprised,” came Voldemort’s now familiar high pitched voice. “Your mental strength seems to increase as your body fails, Hermione. How interesting. Severus,” he hissed. 

Hermione flinched again as Professor Snape stepped out of the ranks and walked towards Voldemort, bowing when he reached him. 

“My Lord,” he said, falling to one knee in front of his master. 

“I want you to try to invade Hermione Granger’s mind, Severus. I will admit that I have been having trouble,” he said in a faux humble voice. 

“I will, of course, try, my Lord. But I do not think I will be able to succeed where you have not,” came Professor Snape’s silky voice.   
Hermione allowed herself to be momentarily soothed by its familiarity. His voice meant Hogwarts. His voice meant safety. It was funny to Hermione that someone who previously meant trouble was now soothing.

“All I ask is that you try, Severus,” Voldemort said. He slid one hand through Professor Snape’s hair before sitting back on his seat again, one hand petting the thick snake wound around his lap and chair. 

“Of course, my Lord,” Professor Snape said. He turned away with one last bow and walked toward Hermione, stopping a few feet away. The slightest widening of his eyes was all he allowed himself to react to Hermione’s appearance. She knew that if it had Professor Snape horrified then it must be bad. 

Hermione met his eyes and prepared herself for the inevitable attempt to shred her walls. Instead, she heard his voice in her mind. 

*Miss Granger?*

Hermione flinched wildly. She was not expecting this. Shouldn’t her shields be blocking him? She attempted to throw up her shields all the way, whether it made her catatonic or not.

*Stop! Granger, stop! I’m not going to invade your mind!*

Hermione stopped trying to bury herself in her shields and let him speak.

*Listen, Granger. Did Draco tell you about the Order?*

*Yes, sir.* Her reply was so faint she wondered if he’d heard it.

*Good. I need your help. I have a basilisk fang in my pocket meant for Nagini. She is the last Horcrux to be destroyed.*  
The wave of relief Hermione felt was barely contained, but he must have felt it.   
*I will kill Nagini and come back for you. Be ready.*

And then his mental presence was gone. She realized, quite belatedly, that his hadn’t felt vile, but instead a brushing quite like a butterfly wing.

“I apologize, my Lord,” Professor Snape said, turning back to Voldemort. “I was unable to penetrate her mind.”

Voldemort heaved a dramatic sigh. “I must admit I was afraid of such a thing. For someone such as she, she has quite a unique amount of control over her mind.” His humble charade faded as his anger took its place. “I will also admit that I am getting quite impatient with you, Hermione. I have given you many options to speak and you have not. Today is your last chance. If you choose not to speak today you will never speak again.” He cast a Crucio at her, just for fun. She was barely on the ground when he lifted the curse. “You have missed all the fun, Severus. Perhaps you can convince your student to speak.”

“Whatever my Lord desires,” Professor Snape said, tipping his head in Voldemort’s direction. 

“I am told you have brought the potions, Severus?” Voldemort asked coldly.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Then demonstrate, if you will.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Professor Snape walked toward her again without hesitation and this time didn’t stop until he was close enough to touch her if he wished. Hermione shivered at the thought. 

He reached into a deep pocket of his black Death Eater robes and pulled out a vial of icy blue potion. Hermione shivered even harder at the sight. She knew this potion - the one that freezes the air in your lungs in a slow suffocation. 

“Do you recognize this, Miss Granger? You always were such a know-it-all,” he drawled slowly. 

Hermione glared at him defiantly, refusing to even nod. Inside she was shuddering. This poison was even worse than the one that boiled her blood. Slow suffocation was worse than a quick burn, in her experienced opinion. They never let the boiling go longer than a minute lest it kill her, but the one in Professor Snape’s hand...they let that one go until she was on the brink of unconsciousness. 

Professor Snape’s hand shot out and gripped a fistful of matted brown hair, ignoring her startled yelp. He looked into her eyes and spoke again. 

*Take a deep breath through your nose if you can.*

She inhaled painfully (everything hurt) and deeply through her nose as he growled out loud, “Open your mouth before I open it for you.” Hermione let a whimper slip out. She opened her mouth slowly, inhaling the whole time to fill her lungs as much as she could. With an impatient snarl, Professor Snape wandlessly popped the cork off the vial and poured the contents down her throat. 

*Stay calm,* he said softly in her mind before releasing her head from his grip. 

She was too tired to form a sarcastic retort. 

As oxygen became harder and harder to draw into her lungs, her vision swam. Dizziness overcame her and she stumbled back, sitting before she could fall. Her body was tingling like a thousand ants were crawling, trying to get under her skin. She rubbed at it, trying to take the feeling away. That hurt, though, so she stopped. 

The whole room was spinning underneath her and the only thing keeping her from throwing up was her pride, and the fact that she felt like if she did, she’d throw up her whole shrunken stomach. She mentally thanked Professor Snape when she noticed that she was actually getting more oxygen than it looked like. 

The sounds of her pained wheezes quickly became one of the only sounds to penetrate her foggy mind. All focus went to keeping her shields up before she passed out. Grey… her vision was greying...soon there’d be nothing… maybe they would let her die this time… that would make Harry sad…

A warm liquid - the antidote - forced itself into her lips and she almost choked. She swallowed quickly and sucked in a huge breath as soon as she was able. She lay on the ground, breathing deeply for as long as she could. 

“Very good, Severus,” Voldemort encouraged. “Now, Hermione… Do you feel like speaking yet?”

She didn't even look up.

“Next, Severus.”

Hermione couldn’t help but sputter when the next potion was forced down her throat. It scalded all the way down into her stomach, then her veins, until she was screaming. She would have cried if her body could have spared the water. She was boiling… then she was freezing… boiling… frozen… screaming. Merlin, it hurt, where was that antidote? They’d never let it get so far before. Voldemort’s patience must really be wearing thin. 

She was curled in the fetal position trying to fight the freeze her body wanted when she was shoved onto her back and another warm antidote was forced down her throat. She was crying now, though no tears were coming. She was so over this, the constant pain, the constant need to shield her mind, the heat that was becoming bone-deep from the infected cuts, the tears she knew she had down there, the break-and-heal routine she was becoming frighteningly accustomed to. 

Her shoulders were shaking, and though she made no noise except for her harsh breathing, they knew she was crying. She wanted it to end.

“Pathetic, Miss Granger.” Professor Snape’s voice reached her through a fog. She blearily looked up through swollen, dry eyes into a bottomless black. *It’s almost over, Little One, his mind voice spoke to her, even as his physical countenance showed nothing but disdain. “I expect more from one of Dumbledore’s favored Gryffindors.” *Just a little longer, I’m so sorry. It’s almost over.*

Hermione had never heard the man apologize, and that in and of itself gave her the strength to respond for the first time that day, though her voice was now unrecognizable. “Better a favored Gryffindor than a backstabbing Slytherin like you,” she rasped. *I’m not little...I’m just small.*

“Dumbledore was a fool to trust me in the first place, Miss Granger. Surely you can wrap your abnormally large mind around that? You were a fool to trust me. Look where you are now. This is your last day on this Earth, and you are going to spend it being the plaything of your enemies.” Hermione flinched at the word ‘plaything’. She’d never understood the term better.   
*You are little, but we can discuss that at Hogwarts. The Order should be arriving any minute.*

Hermione’s heart leaped into her throat. Yes. Yes. The Order was coming, finally, she would be leaving, yes, yes, yes! Her relief gave her courage.

“I am no more your plaything than you are your masters’,” she spoke calmly. 

Gasps were the only noise in the room. 

“Bellatrix,” Voldemort called coldly. “Remove her tongue from her head. Her use is spent.”

Hermione’s heart dropped at a frightening pace yet again. No. Nonono, she was leaving soon, this was not happening. Through all of the things she’d gone through, she’d known that she could still respond if she’d wanted to. The only weapon she’d had was her voice. They’d changed it beyond repair, and now they wanted to take it completely. She couldn’t help her impulse to look to Professor Snape.

He sneered back at her. “I told you, you were a fool to trust me, Miss Granger. Any last words?” *I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.*

Now that the moment was here (though not quite like what she was expecting), she could think of nothing to say. *There’s nothing you can do.* Her mental voice was fading as she turned away from him to face her doom.

Whatever Professor Snape replied with was lost completely on Hermione as that horrible silver knife gleamed ever closer. It had been washed of her ‘dirty blood’ many times now and she morosely wondered if this was the last time. Logically, she knew she had no chance to fight the larger, stronger, armed woman but she couldn’t accept her fate. 

So she fought.

It lasted all of two seconds. 

The ropes were back. Hermione hated those things. She was suspended in the air a few inches off the ground, face level with the mad witch in front of her. Her jaw was forced open and her tongue roughly grabbed, activating her gag reflex. She did what she had to do; Occlude to remain sane. 

She ceased to hear, ceased to see, ceased to feel anything that wasn’t her library image. She took it further than ever this time. She could see the individual books, read their titles, reach out and touch them - and boom. Her mind was clear. It felt like when she’d get totally engrossed in a book, the story enveloping her like a warm hug, encouraging her to delve ever deeper into the story. 

A voice was calling her, but it sounded muffled, so she ignored it. She walked and walked, and what did that voice want? It was annoyingly persistent.

*Granger*, it called. *Come back now. Come, Little One.*

She loosened her shields just enough to hear that lovely voice a little clearer. *I don’t want to. I can’t anymore.* All the anguish she’d felt in the last eight days flooded out through her voice. She felt that lovely presence, so much like a butterfly, recoil at the power of it. She immediately started raising her shields more; she never wanted to cause pain.

*Wait, Little One*, the voice called to her. *Please, come with me. You can’t stay here. This place will drive you insane eventually. You are safer with the pain for now, Little One. Please, trust me.* A rush of feeling accompanied the last plea. The voice wanted - needed - her to come with him. He would never forgive himself if she stayed there. That voice had anguish of its own, anguish for her and what she was feeling, anguish for the hurt he himself had caused her. 

So she went with him.

She greeted the voice by the library doors where cold air was rushing in. She could tell if she stepped out it would hurt - a lot - but she also knew she had to do it now or be stuck there forever. She wanted to follow the voice.

He stepped in to greet her and they swirled around each other for a moment in reunion. He wrapped himself around her and helped her step into the cold. For a moment she floundered in the pain that greeted her, but the voice she now recognized as Professor Snape took a firmer hold of her and helped her drop more slowly. 

*Well done, Little One. I’m going to let go now, alright? It will hurt, but I need you to stay. Please stay.*

And then he was gone and she was alone and there was pain, why is there so much pain, and then a high, cruel laugh, and oh, yes, that’s why.

“Well done, Bellatrix,” Voldemort cheered far to gleefully as Hermione’s eyes came back into focus on a familiar bottomless black set of the man across the room. 

She knew she should thank him but she couldn’t right then. She was still deciding whether or not to stay in the pain landscape or retreat back into the safety of her library. All she could give was the slightest nod in the form of a head drop. When she glanced up she knew her message had been received. 

She cast her gaze downwards again and immediately wished she hadn’t. The severed portion of her tongue lay abandoned on the floor at her feet, and this time her gag reflex couldn’t be stopped. She dry heaved, hard, both against the foreign sensation in her mouth and the sight of her body part lying on the ground, and the ropes around her tightened as their mistress watched her suffering. 

“Oh, you poor dear,” Bellatrix cooed. She reached over and pushed a strand of sweaty, bloody, dirty hair behind her ear, delighting in Hermione’s shudder. “That really was awful of me, wasn’t it? Oh, but you can’t tell me about it now. What a shame,” she simpered. 

Hermione glared as hard as she could when all she wanted to do was cry and promptly spat out a glob of thick blood onto Bellatrix’s face. She smiled a truly chilling smile and flicked the blood off her face. 

“You’ll pay for that, Mudblood. CRUCIO!” And Hermione’s world was once again fire and all-encompassing pain and screaming that left no room for anything else, and she was going to explode, she just knew it, knives were stabbing their way out of her body - how did they get there in the first place?

And then it was over, and she fell to the floor, still twitching, and realized that Bellatrix was on the ground in front of her. Hermione was partially on top of her severed tongue, horror filling her as she felt the muscle cooling. She rolled off of it and ended up on her back, dazed and a low buzz filling her head. She knew she had no more strength to rise.

Hermione noted vaguely that colorful curses were flying overhead and focused just enough to hear muffled curses and yelling. With a tired nod, she realized that it was the Order come moments too late and felt one solitary tear slip out of one eye before she let darkness claim her.


	3. Return to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wakes up back at Hogwarts, hurting and traumatized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday, everybody! I hope your week is going smoothly so far, and remember to drink water.
> 
> TW: Scars, blood, flashbacks, and mentions of rape recovery. Let me know if I need to add any more to this chapter, and please read safely!
> 
> Remember, * * is for mental communication. I'm adding something else as well: ^ ^ means Hermione has written something and is communicating that way. It will make more sense to read it. 
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!

Fever… down… help… infection… blood loss… pain… how… so… brave… 

* 

Fiery pain and hands on her, gripping her too tight, and voices that were too loud, except for one.

“Be quiet, all of you. Let her go and step back. She will not calm down until you release her.” It was Professor Snape. She felt him lean close and she recoiled, shivering, but when he shifted back a few inches she felt better. “Come now, Little One. You’re alright. We are back at Hogwarts now with Madame Pomfrey and your friends, and - no, don’t try to talk yet.”

Hermione couldn’t open her eyes and she felt herself struggle. *Need… help… *

“Shh,” Professor Snape soothed. “You’re not ready to be awake yet… Go back to sleep, Little One. I will be here when you wake up… Go to sleep, Little One,” he whispered softly. 

So she did.

*

“Hermione.” A female voice called her back from the edge of sleep. “Wake up, dear.”

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open after she’d made sure her shields were strongly in place. Madame Pomfrey leaned over her with a relieved smile. Hermione startled at the closeness. 

“Well, dear, I was beginning to think you’d sleep away your chance to say goodbye to your friends for the summer.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened (curiously easily) as the full reality settled down on her. She really was back at Hogwarts in the Hospital Wing with Madame Pomfrey. She turned her head to look around and get her bearings and saw two of her favorite people; Harry and Ron. She felt oddly disconnected from her too heavy body and she realized she must be on some serious pain killers. 

“Hey, ‘Mione,” Ron said thickly. He had red around his eyes and he looked like he’d give his left foot to be able to hug her at that moment.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said. He looked far more put together than Ron, but she could tell he’d not had an easy time of it. 

Her fingers twitched like she’d wanted to give a wave but couldn’t. 

“We’ve been so worried about you,” Ron said, taking a half step closer. “We’ve all been a right mess these past days, haven’t we, Harry?”

Harry nodded with tense features. Hermione could see his clenched fists and wished she could reach out and soothe him, even as a larger part of her recoiled from the very idea. 

“Hermione…” Harry started. His features relaxed minutely and a small smile flickered on his face before dying. “We did it. Voldemort is dead.” Hermione flinched violently at Voldemort’s name. “It’s over. We can be free now.”

“Yeah, and you’ll never guess who told us how to come find you,” Ron said. “It was Draco Malfoy. The stupid git is what made the whole rescue operation possible. I can’t even hate him anymore because of what he did for you, ‘Mione. He was a right mess too, he was, come screaming into the Great Hall with a letter in his hand, heading straight for Dumbledore. He ran right up to him, all out of breath, and said ‘he’s got her’. He had to catch his breath, so he hunched over and shoved the letter at Dumbledore to read, and as soon as he did, he called the Heads of House together, them being in the Order and all, and they made a plan. 

“Malfoy was at a real risk too, but apparently he said he didn’t care and his mum said it was urgent, so they sent all the kids home a day early under the guise of ‘our trauma at the Ministry being hard on everyone’ so they could get you out sooner. And they found the last three Horcruxes and destroyed them with Basilisk fangs Harry got from the Chamber of Secrets. Snape took one for when he was summoned to get Nagini with. Harry was there when they went and got you, since he had to be the one to destroy Voldemort and all.” 

Another violent flinch. Hermione looked to Harry with growing horror. He couldn’t have been there, seen her like that. It would break a part of him. He smiled sadly at her in understanding and shook his head. 

Hermione’s body wanted to panic, but under such heavy potions she couldn’t do more than let a few tears slip out. Harry stepped forward, hand raised to wipe them away, but he stopped when Hermione, wide eyed in her frenzy, shook her head and silently bade him to stop. He stepped back into place beside Ron and smiled sadly at her again. She could tell he wanted to cry but wouldn’t in front of her. Her eyes felt heavy again and she let them close.

“Madame Pomfrey?” Ron called quietly. “I think she fell asleep.”

Hermione heard a bustling that could only be the Mediwitch coming towards them. “So it seems, boys. Come back tonight before you leave to see her. She will sleep off and on all day today. I’m afraid that’s the best she can do right now.”

Two calls of ‘yes, Madame Pomfrey’ sounded and heavy footsteps walked out of the Hospital Wing. 

Hermione really was almost asleep when she heard another set of robes shifting as the newcomer sat in the chair by her bed. Hermione had almost managed to open her eyes when Professor Snape’s voice soothed her automatic panic.

“Are you awake, Little One?” he asked softly, just in case she wasn’t.

She managed to drag her eyes open enough to meet his. *I’m not little.*

His lips quirked. *Yes, you are. I don’t think Little One means what you think it means, Miss Granger.*

Hermione cringed. *Please, don’t call me that.* Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. 

*I am sorry.* He leaned forward a little to show his earnestness. *I was not thinking; I will not if it bothers you.*

*Thank you*, she replied faintly. Her eyes really wanted to close, but she forced them open. *Was it you that got her? Nagini, I mean?*

A bittersweet smirk lit his features. *Yes.*

*Good.* Hermione, in her tiredness, accidentally sent forward a memory of the snake twisting around her legs, tighter and tighter, jaw unhinged but never allowed to bite.

Professor Snape set his jaw. Hermione’s mental presence cringed in apology.

*Please forgive me. I am not in complete control right now. I think Madame Pomfrey overloaded me on painkillers*, she tried to joke. 

*She did*, Professor Snape answered truthfully. *The care she gave you was the best she could possibly give. I will tell you, you have many scars. The infection had to be taken care of before the cosmetic portion of healing. I have a salve that will help, but it won’t take them away.*  
She could feel his regret.

*Are they so horrible?* She asked in a small voice.

Professor Snape studied her a moment before answering. *They are not horrible to me.*

Hermione nodded bleakley and let her eyes drift closed, severing their mental connection. 

Professor Snape sighed heavily, a sure sign he wanted to say more. “Sleep well.”

Hermione wondered softly before she slipped into sleep what kind of world it was that Professor Snape was wishing her well while she slept.

*

When she next woke, Madame Pomfrey raised the bed so she could partially sit up. Hermione desperately wanted to ask a question, but she couldn’t speak with no tongue (that thought alone was enough to make her want to raise her Occlumency barriers sky-high) and she didn’t know how else to ask.

She reached out with one hand as Madame Pomfrey straightened her bedsheets, waving it to get the matrons attention. As predicted, she looked up with slight surprise.

“Do you need something, Hermione?” the kindly woman asked.

Hermione nodded. 

“Would you like to write it down?” Madame Pomfrey nodded towards the bedside table where a small notebook and pen sat waiting for her. The pen surprised her, but she figured Harry must have gotten it to make writing easier on her still sore hands. She knew she’d had at least two broken fingers on her dominant hand. 

Hermione reached out slowly, trying to ignore her bodies loud resistance. She softly scooped up the new treasure and brought it to her lap. Writing clumsily, she wrote, ^Was I given a contraceptive?^ Hermione shuddered and held out the notebook for Madame Pomfrey to see. 

She watched Madame Pomfrey’s face flood with sadness before it shuttered. She nodded slowly. 

“Yes, dear,” she said quietly, holding the notebook back to the tired girl. “It is standard procedure in these cases to dose the victim with a contraceptive potion. It’s not guaranteed to work, but your body in its current state would reject any pregnancy, so you don’t have to worry about that.” Hermione sagged with relief. Even while it had been happening - after the horror of the first time - she’d prayed she wouldn’t get pregnant from whoever it was that attacked her.

Madame Pomfrey turned to go, but Hermione held up her hand again, mildly panicking even through the potions. 

“Yes, dear?”

Hermione frantically scribbled as best she could with her sore fingers and regrowing fingernails. ^Who all knows?^

Madame Pomfrey didn’t respond right away, obviously considering.

“Well… I know, obviously. Professor Snape brewed you the contraceptive fresh so it would be at its most potent, along with several other potions.” Something inside Hermione withered. “Tonks and Kingsley know and are waiting to see if you want to press charges. Headmaster Dumbledore has been informed since you are a student and is waiting to talk to you about how you want to inform your parents. That’s it.”

Hermione shrunk in on herself as the list grew. She knew that was as small a list as she had reason to hope for, but having people know was still… she didn’t know how she felt exactly. 

Hermione slowly wrote out what she felt was something to be ashamed of. ^I don’t know who it was.^

She held out the notebook for Madame Pomfrey to read, shivers raking up and down her back. She could feel the stretch of sensitive skin.

To her relief, Madame Pomfrey nodded and didn’t look surprised. “That’s alright, dear. If you are willing to put a memory of the incident in a Pensieve for the Aurors to observe it would narrow the suspects. They caught almost all the Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor that night, so chances are he is locked up as we speak. Is that something you would consider?”

Hermione could only shrug. Madame Pomfrey nodded, patting the blanket by her foot. Hermione inched away.

“That’s alright dear. You have time to think on it. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Madame Pomfrey waited patiently while Hermione wrote one last thing.

^When are Harry and Ron coming?^

“They’ll be here in an hour. They are leaving tonight, so they are very excited to see you. Until then, would you like something to eat? We have you on a nutrient potion, but it is better for your stomach to get used to real food again.” Hermione appreciated Madame Pomfrey’s matter-of-fact professionalism. 

Hermione held up her hand, thumb and forefinger barely a centimeter apart.

Madame Pomfrey smiled then and nodded briskly. “How does some light soup sound?”

Hermione nodded tiredly and laid back on the bed. 

“Alright, dear, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

*

“Hermione! You’re awake!” Ron called as he and Harry entered the Hospital Wing. He was too far away to notice Hermione’s startled jerk. 

She nodded and snatched up her notebook and waved it at Harry, who smiled. 

“I figured it would be the easiest way to communicate until they can regrow your… tongue.” All three teens looked uncomfortable, and this time the two boys didn’t miss her horrified shudder. “Hey, it’ll be okay, Hermione.” Harry tried for a bright tone. 

“Madame Pomfrey says your voice will be different now, but I’m sure it will still be pretty,” Ron contributed. 

Hermione knew how her voice sounded now. It was lower and somewhat sultry and reminded her entirely too much of Bellatrix. She didn’t want to speak. She just shook her head. She opened her notebook to a new page so the boys wouldn’t see her conversation with Madame Pomfrey. ^Thanks, Harry. It’s been really helpful.^

She held it out for both boys to see. Harry smiled.

“I’m glad.”

There was an awkward lag in the conversation, but they steadfastly tried to ignore it. Hermione was also trying to ignore the way the boys shifted from studying her and avoiding looking at her. 

^What did they tell you?^ Hermione scrawled. She scowled down at her messy handwriting for a moment before holding out the notebook again.

Both Harry and Ron looked uncomfortable. 

“Well…” Ron started. He shifted in his seat and twisted his hands together. “They said to be prepared for what you look like now and not to touch you. They said you had potions that damaged your throat and that you can’t talk until they regrow your tongue. They honestly didn’t tell us much. They said that you’d talk about it when you’re ready.”

Hermione nodded, glad of Madame Pomfrey’s discretion. 

“Are you?” Harry asked. He looked torn, like he wanted to know but also didn’t. “Ready, I mean.”

Hermione started shaking her head before he’d even stopped speaking. ^I just need some time.^

Both boys nodded and looked relieved. Hermione didn’t know quite how that made her feel. 

^Are you leaving tonight?^

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “Mum’s a right mess. She’s been worried sick about you. I can’t even imagine how your mum will be.”

Hermione felt a pang in her chest when she thought about her mum and dad. She knew exactly how they’d be. They’d hover and wait for her to have some kind of breakdown, all the while asking if she needed anything. 

^She’ll hover for sure.^

Ron huffed a laugh and Harry smiled wistfully. 

“Hey, how about-”

Things happened too quickly for Hermione to fully comprehend. She heard the clink of potion vials behind her and she swung around. Her eyes landed on a vial of icy blue potion sitting on the bedside table where Madam Pomfrey was laying out a row of filled vials, presumably for her to take. The sight of the icy blue liquid sent a bolt of fear straight through her. 

Without even realizing what she was doing she was up and out of her bed, scrambling backward on severely unsteady legs. She walked straight into Harry’s legs and he reached out to steady her. Where his hands touched her arms felt like boiling water was sprayed directly onto her skin. She gave a strangled cry and lurched away, falling onto her hands and knees. 

Vaguely she recognized people’s voices talking to her, but she needed to get away, she didn’t want anymore, please, don’t make me go through that again, I’ve had enough. She tried crawling away, but when she felt another hand on her back she just couldn’t anymore. So, she did what she had to do to protect herself. She Occluded.


	4. Can I See?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione sees herself for the first time after Malfoy Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Scars/wounds, rape/torture recovery
> 
> Let me know if I need to add any more, please!
> 
> Does anyone know how to make Ao3 accept italicized letters? For some reason, I can't italicize anything on my stories.:(
> 
> Thanks for reading darlings!

*Hermione?* Professor Snape’s voice echoed through her library, searching for her. She heaved a sigh and walked towards the entrance where he was waiting for her. She stopped several feet away and he kept his distance.

*I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to hurt anymore.*

*I know, Little One, but you must. What is hurting you?* His presence swirled a bit closer.

*I saw the potion… I know Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but that potion… the blue one… it looks just like one of the potions the Death Eaters gave me. The first one you gave me. I got scared. I just want to stay a little longer.*

*The potion is called Breath of Winter. It is truly a monstrosity, but I promise Madame Pomfrey would never give that to you, or anyone. Her Healer’s vows wouldn’t allow her to. The blue potion on your bedside table is simply a pain reliever, Hermione, nothing more.*

Hermione edged a little closer. *Harry and Ron already look at me funny. I guess this won’t help them, huh? It hurt when he touched me. Harry, I mean. I think he tried to keep me from falling, but when he touched my arms it hurt… like boiling water.*

*I won’t let them touch you if you don’t want to, Hermione. But Madame Pomfrey does have to touch your skin so she can treat your infections.*

*How bad is it?*

*I will tell you if you come with me. You’ve already been here too long. It’s not safe to extract yourself so completely from your body.*

*It helped me when they* - she cut herself off.

*I understand, Little One, but they are not here any longer. They can’t hurt you. Come back with me, please.*

Hermione knew she’d be crying if she could. She let herself drift forward toward the door and Professor Snape. *Will you help me?*

*Of course.* He wrapped himself around her again and helped her step out of the doors. She wasn’t assuaged with pain or cold this time, but it was still uncomfortable. He drifted them both down slowly, steadily, until she was settled back into her aching body. She’d not noticed the pain before, but she did now. 

When Professor Snape left her mind completely, Hermione let her eyes blink into focus. There in front of her was Professor Snape, crouching before her but not touching. Still, she couldn’t help her jolt backward in shock to have someone so close to her unexpectedly. 

“Shh,” he soothed, settling back on his heels. He was dressed in black trousers and a white button-down without his usual heavy black robes. The sight was...odd.

Hermione blinked blearily and glanced around. She was sitting on top of her bed with her legs hanging off the side and both Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen. She could feel the cold air on her back where her hospital gown was open and her breath hitched at the forced exposure. She was quick to snatch up the throw blanket at the end of the bed and cover herself. 

Madame Pomfrey was in the corner of the room, waving her wand to fold the newly clean sheets and blankets from the empty beds beside Hermione’s. To Hermione’s surprise, Professor Dumbledore was sitting in Ron’s abandoned chair. 

“Hello, my dear girl. Are you with us again?” he asked kindly, his usual twinkle sedated.

She nodded slowly as Professor Snape stood and sat in Harry’s seat. She looked around for her notebook and saw it sitting next to her, waiting to be used. She snatched it up and wrote painfully, /Are you here to talk about my parents, sir?/

She held it out so both professors could see. 

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Among other things, yes. Your parents were, of course, informed of your kidnapping and are naturally very worried for you. They wanted to see you, but as I’m sure you know, Muggles can’t enter Hogwarts grounds. It is up to Madame Pomfrey to decide when you are well enough to visit.”

/Visit, sir?/

“Yes, Miss Granger.” Hermione flinched, though she wasn’t sure why. “Your parents were told of your newfound ability to perform Occlumency, and are aware of the risks it poses to you.” Hermione tilted her head in silent question. “I am told you are able to perform to such a degree you lose sight of yourself. I was able to witness it just now, and I quite agree with Severus’ assessment. We feel that if you were to live with your parents and were in need of assistance coming back to yourself they would be unable to help you, and I quite agree. Severus has great skill in both Legilimency and Occlumency so he is in the best position to help you. I’m assuming you would not want me in your head?”

Hermione adamantly shook her head no, mildly worried that the Headmaster would be offended, but not enough to let him in. He appeared unruffled.

“I thought so. Severus has been in your mind before-”

Hermione turned accusing eyes on the Potions Master. *You said you weren’t in my head!*

*I wasn’t until you trusted me enough to let me help you. I communicated with you from outside the entrance to your mindscape until you allowed me access, and even then I was only allowed in far enough to help you out. You have remarkable control over your mind. The Headmaster and I are of the opinion that you are what we call an ‘innate Occlumens’. This means you were born with the skill.*

“Oh, my,” Professor Dumbledore said, obviously delighted. Hermione broke eye contact with Professor Snape long enough to look towards the Headmaster. “It’s true then. Miss Granger, where you and Professor Snape communicating just now?”

Hermione nodded, face hot at her own rudeness. /My apologies, Headmaster. That was incredibly rude of me,/ she wrote quickly. After she was done she shook out her hand. The ache was worsening, and in some places even becoming sharp stabbing pain. 

“No apologies necessary, dear girl. You have quite the gift.” He must have seen her confused look because he elaborated. “In order to be able to communicate the way you and Professor Snape have been requires mental strength that is known to few, Miss Granger. To be able to communicate complete sentences and even select images and moments in time is extremely rare. Tell me, how long have you been practicing Occlumency?” His curiosity was palpable.

/I tried it the first night, sir. I was just trying to escape the pain for a little while. It worked./

Professor Dumbledore’s face grew sad, his years evident as the twinkle in his eyes grew dim. He sighed softly and handed her notebook back. Their fingers touched for an instant, but for Hermione, it was enough. She dropped the notebook in shock and yanked her arm back, cradling it close to her chest. She didn’t look up to see both men exchange a quick glance. 

Professor Snape picked up her book and set it down beside her within easy reach. 

“I am sorry, Miss Granger,” Professor Dumbledore said sincerely. “I will try to be more aware.”

Hermione nodded and blushed. She dropped her head in shame and picked at a frayed thread. When she shifted, she was surprised by a sharp pain like a knife stabbing down there and she hissed, hunching over, one hand holding her up on the bed while the rest of her froze to try and minimize the pain. She automatically started escaping into her library image but was interrupted by Professor Snape’s soothing voice. 

“No, Hermione, stay here. Look at me, please.” 

Hermione inched her head up, face contorted as she tried to move as slowly as possible.

*Where does it hurt?* He asked seriously.

Hermione grimaced and sent the feeling to him. She was too embarrassed to put it into words. To her everlasting relief, he took it in stride, no hint of discomfort.

“Madame Pomfrey? Hermione is in need of her pain relief,” he called.

Hermione dropped her head in shame again so her unbound hair could hide her face and squeezed her eyes shut tight. She tried not to move as she listened to Madame Pomfrey approach. 

“Here you are, Miss Granger,” she said briskly, holding out the vial of icy blue potion. 

Hermione stared at it in a daze, mind flicking between the knowledge that this is pain relief, not poison, and don’t drink that, you could die! 

“Hermione,” Professor Snape said calmly. “Remember what I told you about Madame Pomfrey’s Healer’s Oath? She is bound to heal, not hurt. She couldn’t give a patient poison if she tried.”

Hermione nodded vaguely and reached out, her hand trembling. Madame Pomfrey patiently waited for her to grasp the potion vial before withdrawing her hand. 

“It’s time for the rest of your potions as well, Miss Granger. I’m not surprised you are hurting right now. It is well past the time for you to be taking them,” the matron said.

Hermione nodded stiffly and rose the vial to her lips slowly, staring at Professor Snape the whole time. His quiet calm was what made her able to tip the liquid into her mouth. She shuddered at first, her stomach twisting into knots at the thought of swallowing. She squeezed her eyes shut again and made her mind focus on the differences between the two potions. 

Breath of Winter was freezing; this potion was lukewarm. The fact that she couldn't taste anything was disturbing in the extreme, so she shoved that thought away as best she could.

Hermione made herself swallow and was extremely grateful, for in barely a minute the sharp pains in her body subsided to a calm ache that was much more easily managed. She felt her body relax until she was slumped over and breathing more deeply than she was before. The absence of the pain made her more acutely aware of the fact that her feet were freezing.

She shifted the blanket so she could move without fear of exposing herself to the two men sitting across from her. The very idea made her skin crawl. Madame Pomfrey stepped forward to help her, but Hermione couldn’t even bare the idea that the matron would have to touch her to help Hermione’s body rid itself of the infection.

While she shifted, the neck of her hospital gown shifted, revealing a row of three bite marks down the right side of her neck and shoulder. When she caught the three other people staring, she yanked up the neckline and tightened the blanket around her, hiding her body as much as possible. She caught Professor Snape’s eye.

*Can I see?*

He frowned but looked to Madame Pomfrey. “Hermione would like to know if she could see her wounds.”

Madame Pomfrey looked from Professor Snape to Hermione. She was obviously hesitant, so Hermione was quick to write out Please? and hold it out to the matron. The woman sighed and nodded.

“You may, but know that we are still working on the infection, so the redness and swelling will go down soon. It will not always be like this.”

Her words did not inspire confidence in the young woman, but she appreciated the reality. Hermione nodded and scooted stiffly off the bed, the blanket still around her shoulders. She did not want to expose her back.

She had to grab the wall to keep from falling as she wouldn’t allow anyone to assist her. The painful stretch of infected skin and slight pain between her legs was her only companion as she made her slow way to the bathroom and firmly shut the door behind her, Madame Pomfrey’s stern instruction not to lock the door still ringing in her ears. She leaned her forehead on the wood, gathering her courage.

With one swift movement, she was off the door and facing the mirror. She froze when she saw herself for the first time with her ‘newest features’. All she could see was her face as the neckline on her hospital gown was too high to see the damage done to the rest of her body, but that was enough. She barely constrained a noise of distress (she was positive Madame Pomfrey was listening outside, just waiting to open the door and whisk her away). 

She stepped mechanically towards the mirror, stopping before her hips could brush the sink. She didn’t know how they could all look at her with a straight face; hers had six perfectly symmetrical, angry, red lines. She could see what Madame Pomfrey meant about the infection. It was spread to the skin on either side of each cut, yet more angry red. Her bruises were gone, but Hermione hadn’t worried about that.

With shaking hands she untied the hospital gown, staring at a particularly itchy scrape on her forearm from someone’s boot, and let it fall. She couldn’t hold back her gasp.  
Her collar bones, ribs, and hips all had deep, red gashes dragged down the skin directly over the bone. Just like her face, the redness spread outwards, and on her ribs, there wasn’t a single section of clear, unblemished skin. She raised a shaking hand and drew it across her side, slowly turning around to see her back. She wished she hadn’t.  
From what she could see from her awkward head tilt, she had six runes on either side of her spine, which had its own gash all the way from the nape of her neck to her tailbone. She couldn’t decipher what the runes meant through the swelling, but she could imagine it was nothing flattering. The rib gashes continued onto her back, curving around her sides. The cuts marring her shoulder blades ached with her twisting movements. 

The longer she stared the quicker her breathing got until she was hyperventilating. Her breath came in like a gasp and went out like a whine. She couldn’t even focus on the image her back made anymore with the tears blurring her vision, so she swung her head forward again, one hand covering the bite marks on her shoulder and the other wrapped around her waist as tightly as she could stand. 

She knew she wasn’t exactly a pretty girl; this had never bothered her too much in the past, so focused was she on trying to improve herself and learn as much as she could. Now, though, she could hardly stand to look at herself. Madame Pomfrey had told her the wounds would scar, and even though she’d felt the damage she hadn’t had a chance to actually see it until now. 

Her body was beginning to tingle like it had when she’d ingested Breath of Winter, so she sat down on the bathroom floor before her body decided it didn’t want to stand anymore. She yanked the blanket to her, covering as much of her body as she could. The softness helped her calm a little, and she focused on making her breathing deeper. Her throat felt like it was closing and her vision was swimming, but she tried anyway. She was certain one of the potions she’d taken had a calming draught mixed in, because she was positive she would have thrown up at any other time.

She was tempted to get Madame Pomfrey for help because she felt like she was dying, slowly suffocating yet again, and just as if she’d called her, the matron knocked on the door.

“Hermione? Are you alright?”

Hermione couldn't reach far enough to open the door.

“I’m coming in,” she called. Hermione heard her tell someone - maybe two someones - to wait outside the door. Hermione was grateful for that; she didn’t want anyone to see her, but she figured the professional Mediwitch wouldn’t let her sentimentality run away with her at the sight of the cowering girl.

The door opened slowly and hit Hermione’s foot. Madame Pomfrey peered around the wood to see her.

“Oh, dear girl, it’s alright.” She came in all the way and closed the door behind her. She crouched in front of Hermione, not touching her. Hermione couldn’t quite look her in the eye.

Her grip tightened over the bite marks as she struggled to pull in air, staring, terrified, at Madame Pomfrey.

“It’s alright, Hermione. You can do it, I promise, just follow me,” Madame Pomfrey instructed, sucking in enough air to make her chest rise dramatically, holding it for a moment, and then blowing it out softly.

Hermione tried to follow, she really did, but with the ridges of the marks on her shoulder and the cool air on her aching back she just couldn’t focus. She was tempted, so, so tempted, to raise her Occlumency shields, but she didn't want Snape to have to come in and help her when she was exposed like this. 

“Come now, Hermione… In for three, out for three… there, that was better,” Madame Pomfrey encouraged. “Almost there. It’ll be alright.”

The words Madame Pomfrey spoke were not comforting in the slightest, but Hermione appreciated them nonetheless. When her breathing was down to a satisfactory level and Hermione didn’t feel like she’d pass out if she tried to stand, the questions started.

“What brought that on?” Madame Pomfrey asked gently, even though they both knew. Madame Pomfrey transfigured a tissue into a piece of paper and a quill into a pen.

Hermione struggled to find the words. /I know I’m not a beautiful girl, but… seeing that… They marked me, and it’s not reversible. And the whole time I didn’t let myself think about what they were doing because if I did I wouldn’t have the strength to keep going, and even when that man was using me-/ Hermione was definitely crying now, hunching over her legs, /-I didn’t even open my eyes because I didn’t want to know who it was - I didn’t want him to haunt me if I ever got out of there. I’m a coward, and I didn’t even fight him, any of them, because I was too tired, and -/ Hermione started gasping again and gripped the soft throw blanket in her fists, wishing it were a fluffy duvet large enough to crawl under. 

“Shh, Hermione listen to me,” Madame Pomfrey demanded after reading Hermione's scrawling missive. “What happened to you was in no way your fault. You couldn’t have fought them without getting hurt even more. You made the only decision you could have done to protect yourself, and I am so proud of you.” Hermione looked up and met the matron’s eyes for the first time. “You are not a coward, Hermione Granger. You went through things the rest of us can scarcely imagine and are here now despite them. You protected yourself the best you could, and that makes you beautiful. You are strong, and brave, and good, and no matter what anyone says - because people will talk, I’ll not deny that - you are beautiful. What you look like right now is not what you will look like when you are healed. The redness will fade, and Professor Snape’s salve will make the scars white instead of pink on your face so they are less noticeable. We will start on that as soon as the infection is gone. There is hope yet, dear girl. Do not despair.”

Hermione was still crying, but not the sobs from before. Hot tears were leaking steadily out of her eyes, but she wasn’t focusing on that. She wanted more than anything to reach out and grip the Mediwitch around the waist and hug her and be hugged until she felt better, but the thought of actually doing it made her shudder. 

Hermione put her forehead down on her knees and reached out a trembling hand for Madame Pomfrey to grasp, needing some kind of contact. The kindly matron’s hand was soft and warm, her grip firm but not tight. Hermione was grateful, but she could only stand the contact a moment before pulling her hand back with a shiver. It hadn’t felt like boiling water, but the longer she held the older woman’s hand, the hotter it got. 

She took one last shuddering breath and looked up. /Thank you/ she scratched out. 

“Nothing to thank me for,” Madame Pomfrey dismissed. “Now, do you feel like you can be awake long enough to take a quick shower, or do you need to go to bed right now?”  
Hermione was almost too tired to keep her eyes open, the adrenaline of the last fifteen minutes fading rapidly, but she wanted a shower. She nodded, head heavy and the matron shot her a smile. 

/Shower, please./ Hermione answered.

“Of course, my dear. Now, let’s see. Clean hospital gowns are in that drawer there, and the house elves will have put your toiletries together, so everything you need is ready. When you get out I will put to salve for your infection on your back and you can get everywhere else, all right? We can go over your injuries tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded again.

“Scrub gently, and if anything hurts overly much I want you to stop, alright?” Madame Pomfrey looked down at Hermione sternly, though her eyes were warm. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione wrote, smiling shakily at her.

Madame Pomfrey stood slowly, pushing up from the floor with creaking joints. 

Hermione slapped the floor to get the Matron's attention, anxiety churning in her stomach. /Don’t let anyone come in, please./

“Of course,” Madame Pomfrey agreed simply. She shut the door softly behind her.

Hermione stood shakily, the throw still wrapped around her shivering body. Now that she was calm (meaning less upset) she felt worn out and cold. She didn’t look in the mirror - she’d had enough of her reflection for one night - but laid her used nightgown over the sink to keep it off the floor. 

Her shower was quick, thorough, and pleasantly cleansing. She did wonder if the water was charmed never to go above a certain temperature because she couldn’t get it to go as hot as she’d have liked, but she was grateful nonetheless. Hermione spent extra time on her hair, grateful to the house elves who had gotten her personal soaps. 

She kept her back out of the spray as much as possible. The water burned the other cuts, but it absolutely seared her back. She wondered again what the runes meant, and resolved to ask Madame Pomfrey.

With that thought, Hermione stepped out of the shower, slipping slightly on the wet floor. She grabbed the wall to keep herself upright and felt one of her rib cuts rip open. She inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the familiar feeling of warm blood trickling down her skin and failing miserably. 

Almost without conscious thought, she started raising her shields. She caught herself before she slipped all the way behind them, but left them up anyway. She mechanically wrapped a towel around her body, pushing a hand to her side to slow the bleeding. She cracked the door open and knocked for Madame Pomfrey, who appeared almost instantaneously. Hermione vaguely wondered if that was a mediwitch trait, or just Madame Pomfrey. 

Madame Pomfrey got one look at Hermione’s face before asking, “What’s wrong?”

Hermione gestured blankly to her side.

Madam Pomfrey bustled forwards. “Alright, dearie, we’ll get this fixed up in no time. She raised her wand and Hermione stepped back, raising her shields higher, almost disappearing behind the bathroom door. “No, no, Hermione. Stay, please. I was just summoning the salve for your infection. Is that alright?”

Hermione opened the door a little wider, nodding. Madam Pomfrey raised her wand, away from Hermione this time, and caught a medium sized jar in both hands. 

"Can you show me your side, please?" Madame Pomfrey asked calmly. 

Hermione desperately wanted to say no but nodded anyway. She peeled the towel back only far enough to show a strip of her side.

"I can cast a spell to stop the bleeding, but the cuts refuse to heal by magic. My hypothesis is that the blade used to create them was cursed or poisoned." 

Hermione nodded, both to give permission, and because it seemed entirely likely that Bellatrix's knife was somehow tainted. 

Madame Pomfrey was quick to heal the skin as much as she could. "Now for the salve," she said.

Hermione floundered. She did not want to show all of herself, and even as tired as she was quickly becoming, it wasn't a realistic option.

Madame Pomfrey smiled kindly. "Shall I help?"

Hermione nodded.

Madame Pomfrey levitated a hospital gown over Hermione's head, leaving the back open so she could apply the salve.

It could be worse, Hermione told herself. She let the towel drop to the floor and braced herself for Madame Pomfrey's touch on her abused back.

She'd expected burning, like putting rubbing alcohol on a scraped knee, but instead, the salve spread a cooling sensation all over her back. It even mitigated the heat from the school nurse’s hands. It was odd to go from an itching, burning pain that she didn’t realize was there, to nothing at all. 

She held her breath as Madam Pomfrey’s hands went lower. They stopped at Hermione’s tailbone, and by that point, she was ready to spin around and push the mediwitch away. 

“All done,” Madam Pomfrey said, wiping the excess salve on her apron. 

Hermione spun around. 

“You did well,” the mediwitch said gently. “Very well. I will leave you to do the rest by yourself. Knock if you have any problems, dear.”

Hermione nodded at the woman. As soon as the door closed behind her, Hermione let the tears well up in her eyes. She didn’t quite know why she was crying. The amount of kindness in Madam Pomfrey was overwhelming after being surrounded by so much evil for what felt like so long. 

She was quick about smoothing the salve over her other wounds. She didn’t know if it was meant to go on the bite marks, but she put it on them anyway. By the time she tied her hospital gown closed, her eyes were weighed down by exhaustion. 

Hermione hoped she would get a peaceful nights rest.


	5. Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How long has she been doing this?” Professor Snape asked softly, though not softly enough to hide it from Hermione. She figured he knew this and whispered an unheard thank you in her mind.
> 
> “Two hours,” Madam Pomfrey whispered back, sounding beyond frustrated. “I tried to talk to her in the first half hour, but it was like she didn’t hear me at all.” 
> 
> That was news to Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Back again with chapter 5. I have been absolutely blown away with the passionate comments, you guys. They mean more to me than you know! The type of self-soothing Hermione uses in this chapter are techniques I use myself sometimes to calm myself after a flashback or nightmare/anxiety, etc. The pacing for hours isn't therapy recommended, but counting is actually a grounding exercise, as is using a weighted blanket. 
> 
> TW: Nightmare, rape (non-graphic), body memory (a type of flashback)
> 
> Please read safely, and let me know if I should add any trigger warnings! 
> 
> When was the last time you got a drink? *Raises eyebrows encouragingly*

“Back again, Princess?” 

That voice would haunt her forever, she just knew it. 

Body burning almost unbearably, Hermione spit in the general direction of the disgusting waste of breath in front of her. 

“Really, Miss Granger? Pathetic, especially for one so renowned for her intellect. You haven’t thought of a way out yet?” Hermione froze, absolutely froze, at the sound of Professor Snape’s voice here in this hellish place, spewing his cold words again. 

The mystery man didn’t seem to hear the professor, though. 

“Oh, feeling feisty today? Well, we’ll see how you feel when we’re all done, shall we?” 

Hermione whimpered and curled into a ball.

“Pathetic,” Snape whispered harshly. 

“What can I do?” Hermione sobbed. “Help me, Professor!” 

“Only you can help yourself now, Granger. You are not worth the effort it takes to get involved.”

A harsh sob escaped Hermione when a hand grabbed her ankle, yanking her straight. 

“No!” she cried, pushing hands she couldn’t see away. “Stop!”

“Not yet, Princess.”

“Fight, Granger!” 

“I can’t!” Breathing was too hard. “I can’t! No!”

“Hermione!” a new voice called, seeming far away in the distance. “Wake up, dear, it’s alright now. You’re in Hogwarts with me, Madam Pomfrey. Come on, there’s a girl. Wake up,” the kindly matron encouraged. 

Hermione choked on a sob as her body forced her upright, almost knocking heads with the kindly matron trying to help her. Too quick to be stopped, she was throwing up over the edge of the bed, barely holding herself up. The absent feeling of her tongue made her gag again. 

“Oh, poor dear,” Madam Pomfrey crooned. 

It reminded Hermione too much of her mother, and she could only cry harder, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. 

“Sh, shh. You are safe now, Hermione. So safe, at Hogwarts with your friends just a call away, and people who love you all ready to support you.” 

Hermione thought Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded tearful, but she was looking away on purpose. She didn’t want to see someone else being sad for her, not right now when she was so full of grief. 

Breath hitching, Hermione leaned her face into her shoulder. She couldn’t deny that Professor Snape played a role in her torture, couldn’t deny that he’d spent years treating her like a bothersome fly getting in the way. 

But she couldn’t deny that he’d been the one to help her get through the worst moments in her life. He had literally been there and had had to give her the will to live for the last few hours of her ‘stay’ at Malfoy Manor. She couldn’t deny that he had spared her pain that he reasonably could have given her. He didn’t have to make his way to her library and help her out. He didn’t have to offer her kindness when she was, by that point, ready to accept the final blow. 

Instead, he had shown her compassion when there was none, protected her as much as he could, even at risk to himself, and rescued her from the clutches of a madman ready to kill her at a moment's notice. 

That wasn’t something she could ignore. So why was she dreaming of him belittling her while she was attacked? She knew he would have stopped it if he was really there, knew it even while she was in school and something bad happened. 

She remembered him standing in front of Harry, Ron, and herself with werewolf Lupin in front of them. She remembered seeing his hand twitching, the only sign that he was afraid. She remembered him casually setting a jar of murtlap essence on her desk in Potions class, just when she was running low. She remembered so many things he’d done to keep them safe - as safe as he could - even while he hated...everything. Or seemed to, anyway. 

She watched Madam Pomfrey’s feet stop in front of her.

“I have a cool compress if you would like one.”

Hermione nodded, reaching out a trembling hand for her to place the cool cloth in. It was spelled to stay cool, something that Hermione appreciated. She lifted it to the back of her neck, appreciating the coolness, even if she hated how it dripped down her back. 

Madam Pomfrey was quick to vanish the sick. 

Hermione sat back, though she wasn’t comfortable enough to lay back down yet. She still felt like a hand was gripping her ankle, and she desperately wanted to get up and pace. There were no rules saying she couldn’t, were there? She could handle it.

She scooted to the edge of the bed, Madam Pomfrey not trying to make her watchful eyes any less obvious. Her wand was still in her hand, and it made Hermione’s hand itch for her own beautiful wand. 

Her feet hit the floor, and Hermione tugged the blanket down after her as she slipped off her hospital bed. She turned to Madam Pomfrey, tapping her wrist like there was a watch.

Madam Pomfrey understood.

“It is 3:24 AM, dear.”

Hermione nodded and started pacing towards the hospital doors, stomping her left foot a little harder to try and shake the vice grip she felt there. 

“I trust you aren’t trying to escape?” Madam Pomfrey intoned, flicking her wand to fold a pile of sheets the elves must have just washed.

Hermione turned her head to the side, halfway facing the school’s Healer and shook her head. She just needed to...move. 

About six feet away from the doors, she turned and made her way back to her bed. Up and down, down and back. She was moving. She was fine. The hand she felt on her ankle wasn’t there, really. She just felt it there, creeping up her calf like Devil’s Snare, higher and -

Hermione cut off her thoughts with a gasp. She was quick to get moving again - sometime during her wandering thoughts, she’d stopped. Pushing her hair away from her face and tightening the blanket around her, Hermione tried to focus on what she saw and not what she felt.

There were ten beds down the right side and ten down the left. Sixteen windows near the ceiling, letting in the faint moonlight and letting the light from the large room out. Hermione guessed that Madam Pomfrey had turned on the lights while trying to wake her up.

Twenty nightstands, each next to a bed. There were about five paces in between each bed. One and a half breaths per pace. 

Vaguely, Hermione noticed that Madam Pomfrey was still out with her. She was sending refill potions flying through her open office door and onto the ledge where she swapping some potions from the cabinet, topping them off, or simply replacing them. Hermione foggily thought that it wasn’t fair that Madam Pomfrey had to be awake because she was.  
Twenty two and a quarter tiles between her bed and the last bed. Seventy five breaths down the wing, seventy five back. She could do seventy five breaths. She could hold her composure together - well, hold onto the pieces - for seventy five more breaths, for twenty two and a quarter tiles, for ten bed lengths. 

“You should sit down for a while,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice called through Hermione’s mental fog that she belatedly realized was the fog in the entrance to her library image.  
Hermione looked up from the floor tiles she was counting, again, and tilted her head, never stopping her movement.

“It’s 4:30, dear. I’m sure your body needs to rest after such little sleep and pacing for an hour.”

Hermione just shook her head and turned to walk back towards the entrance. 

She had enough mental clarity to hear the Matron sigh behind her, but she just tightened her blanket like a shield. For such a prestigious school, they sure had scratchy blankets. 

______

Around five, Madam Pomfrey was getting ready to force her back into bed, she could tell. She couldn’t, though. Not yet. The grip on her was gone, but if she slowed down, she would feel a finger trail around the sharp bone there, like it was memorizing her skin. It made her want to vomit. Again. 

At half past five, Madam Pomfrey was just opening her mouth to direct Hermione back to bed when the large door on the right opened smoothly and quietly. Since Hermione was facing the doorway, she wasn’t startled.

She was, however, surprised when Professor Snape stepped through. She stopped where she was, meeting his pitch black eyes, darker than the night sky. She flinched as the finger started its trail from the inside of her ankle to the sharp bone on the outside. She sucked in a breath and shifted from foot to foot, anxious to move. Her feet were sore and her back was starting to burn from the abrasive blanket, but she couldn’t stop. 

She knew Professor Snape was studying her, and even though he was so far away Hermione could have reached out and not touched him, she still moved to the side when he passed her. She could practically feel the look the two Hogwarts faculty were sharing behind her back, but she just wanted to go back to her counting. 

“How long has she been doing this?” Professor Snape asked softly, though not softly enough to hide it from Hermione. She figured he knew this and whispered an unheard thank you in her mind.

“Two hours,” Madam Pomfrey whispered back, sounding beyond frustrated. “I tried to talk to her in the first half hour, but it was like she didn’t hear me at all.” 

That was news to Hermione.

“I asked her to stop several times, but she wouldn’t, and it’s not like I can or should force her. I can only advise her. She is a student here, but it isn’t term time and she has been an adult for months now.”

Apparently that was news to Snape as well. 

“She just finished her fifth year, Pomfrey,” he said blankly. “She is sixteen.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “She used a time turner, Severus. For a whole school year, and to double her class schedule. She aged a year up in that time. She is over seventeen.”  
Hermione turned and made her way back to her bed. 

The only sign that Snape was surprised was the slow blink he allowed himself. 

“Here are your potions, Poppy,” he said, drawing a tinkling case from the depths of his robes.

“Thank you, Severus. The students drained the storeroom this year.” Madam Pomfrey’s face tensed into an angry expression - not directed at the students, but, presumably, at Umbridge. 

Professor Snape nodded and turned to meet Hermione’s eyes, catching her watching him - them. He cocked a dark brow.

*Two hours? That is quite a long time on a healing body, Little One.*

Hermione couldn’t reconcile this Professor Snape with the one from her nightmare. 

*It is what it is, Professor.*

*Could I convince you to take a break, at least?*

Hermione sighed through her nose and promptly turned her back to begin pacing back down the length of the hospital wing. 

“I guess not,” he said sardonically, though it seemed to be more directed at himself. 

She heard his footsteps - something she was sure he as allowing, famous for sneaking up on students as he was - and assumed he was heading for the infirmary entrance, but they stopped a ways behind her. 

When she turned again, she saw that he was sitting in a chair by her bed, waiting for her to turn back and make eye contact.

*Is there anything I can do to assist?* Snape’s voice spoke in her mind, soothing and calm.

*You could get me a less scratchy blanket,* Hermione quipped back tiredly.

Hermione almost thought she saw his lips twitch, but that couldn’t have been right. 

Silently, the professor pulled out his black wand and waved it in what Hermione recognized as a summoning charm. Her eyebrows rose, inching toward her hairline and stretching the inflamed skin on her cheekbones.

A soft forest green blanket appeared, seemingly out of thin air, and plopped into Professor Snape’s lap. Even ten steps away, Hermione could tell it would be ten times as comfortable as the itchy hospital blanket she was wearing. 

She watched as Snape casually placed the blanket on her bed for her to take without having to directly approach him. Instead of turning back around right away, she paused long enough to snatch up the incredibly soft blanket. It was quite heavy, she thought, and she could see threads of black mixed in with the dark green. 

With some maneuvering, she managed to get the blanket over her shoulders and the hospital blanket thrown haphazardly over the twin bed without exposing herself. Snape looked away, anyway, just in case.

*Thank you,* she said sincerely when he met her eyes again. 

He just nodded.

There was a strange mix of wood smoke, new book, and an earthy, herbal smell wafting up faintly. It was such a new, comforting smell that Hermione felt like she could bathe in it. It wasn’t earthy in the way that the Malfoy’s cellar had been - it was fresh, like rain on hot grass in the summertime. 

It almost made her want to lay back down on her bed.

She considered it for a moment, eyeing her bed. She ultimately decided to do at least one more lap down and back, and if that was so she could subtly stick her nose into the soft, safe smelling blanket, well that was no one’s business but her own. 

*Where did this come from?* she asked when she was facing Snape again. 

The sky outside was alighting with gray, and Hermione knew if there were windows on the other side of the wing, the suns rays would be peaking in. 

*My quarters,* Snape replied coolly, daring her to scoff.

Instead, she rubbed the side of her head to her shoulder, not wanting the scabs on her face to get caught on the fabric. She held eye contact with him the whole time. 

*Much better,* she admitted. She almost smiled at the frozen look on Snape’s face. 

*I’m glad.* 

Hermione got the feeling that if he were a less dignified person, he would be clearing his throat to dislodge the discomfort. 

Hermione eyed the bed again and decided to risk sitting down for a moment. She lugged the blanket up with her, loving how it dragged. The weight of it was amazingly soothing to the exhausted girl. Wrapping it around her like a human burrito, she huddled in underneath it its warmth.

Snape nodded at her in approval - Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. She wasn’t even tired anymore. Well, her feet maybe, and she was just noticing how sore she was after sitting down, but still. That didn’t mean she wanted to go back to sleep. 

*I don’t want to go back to sleep,* Hermione said firmly to the raven haired man seated next to her.

*No one is making you,* he appeased. 

*You both want me to,* Hermione discouraged, glancing between the two staff in front of her.

*Of course we do,* Snape said nonchalantly. *We want you to heal and feel secure. You need sleep for that.*

Hermione felt her nose wrinkle but did nothing to stop it.

*I don’t want to.*

*If you need, we can give you Dreamless Sleep on the condition that you take it only twice a week.*

As much as uninterrupted sleep appealed to her, she couldn’t leave her body so unattended and unprotected. She shook her head.

Snape tilted his head to the side minutely.

*As you wish.*

Hermione scooched back so she could lean against her many pillows. They were extra plushy so as not to put any unnecessary strain on the healing skin there. 

Her wandering eyes caught sight of one of the books Harry and Ron had brought her and made to untangle her arm from the layers of blankets she had wrapped around herself.  
Snape, seeing her intention, raised a hand to still her. He reached forward and grabbed it himself, opening to where she had placed her bookmark. 

Hermione gawked as he started reading to her, voice smooth and steady even at such an early hour. 

He just quirked a brow without looking up from the pages, sending Hermione’s blood straight to her cheeks and ears. She settled back as much as she could, and listened to him read the familiar words.

______

She never did get back to sleep, but with Snape’s soothing baritone in the background, she was lulled into a kind of daze that had her closing her eyes and focusing only on his voice, and the story he was telling. 

He was quite good at pronouncing the funny names in the story. His voice had an unwavering quality to it, and the only pauses he made were to take a drink of the water Madam Pomfrey had set beside him on the bedside table. 

“Severus,” the Mediwitch’s hushed voice interrupted. Snape paused in his reading. “Dumbledore just Flooed and asked for you to join him in his office.”

Something akin to a quiet growl made its escape from Snape’s throat and something like dismay filled Hermione. 

“Coming, Poppy,” he replied. 

When he started reading again, she dragged her eyes open to question him.

He glanced up and caught her eye, allowing her to ask her question.

*Shouldn’t you be going?* she asked regretfully.

Snape’s lips really did twitch this time.

*The Headmaster can wait until the end of this chapter. If it was truly important he would have come directly. Besides, I am curious to see what happens.*

Hermione laughed lightly through her nose and buried the bottom half of her face, leaving only her eyes out to see Snape stare at her for a moment. She was smiling out of true amusement for the first time since she’d been back.

His eyes moved swiftly back to the page and began reading again. The last two pages of the chapter seemed to go by more quickly. When he placed the bookmark between the pages and shut the book reverently, Hermione could tell he was truly invested in the story. 

*Will you be coming back?* she asked as he stood gracefully, even after sitting in one position for so long.

*Perhaps not until later, but yes. I will be coming back.*

*Good,* Hermione said suredly and allowed her eyes to drift closed.


	6. Home for the Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here is your portkey,” he said, standing and gesturing to a golden pen on the cluttered desk. “It is set to take off in two minutes. Any questions?”  
Hermione’s throat felt tight. Honestly, why was she so nervous?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is not my best chapter. I'm super tired, and it's only nine o'clock. No idea what that's about, but my next stop is sleep! I hope you enjoy my exhaustion-fueled chapter.
> 
> TW: Mild anxiety attack, mention of scars, physical weakness (recovery)  
Let me know if I need to add more!

After a (horrendously long) week spent in the hospital wing, healing and reacclimating, Madam Pomfrey decided Hermione was healed enough to go home with Professor Snape.   
No matter how excited Hermione was to leave the unstimulating infirmary, she couldn’t help being nervous. She didn’t even know quite why she was anxious. Of course, there were reasons why she should be (i.e., going to live with Professor Snape for the summer), but they didn’t seem quite right. 

Professor Snape was going to meet her in the hospital wing in half an hour. Hermione spent the time checking and rechecking her trunk that the house elves had packed for her.   
Her school clothes had been sent home to her parents, and the muggle clothes she’d had at the castle were packed up in her trunk with her summer homework, except the humongous sweater and sweatpants she was wearing. 

Was wearing a sweat suit in the heat of the summer a good idea? No, probably not, but did Hermione care? Not in the slightest. She’d rather be completely covered - well, as covered as she could be - and too hot, than exposed and less hot. 

The sound of the door opening alerted Hermione to her professor’s presence just as she was tugging her collar away from her throat for the, seemingly, millionth time. As she turned to face him, she tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her sweater, making them into a sort of mitten shape.

*Hello, Professor,* Hermione greeted awkwardly. 

The last few days leading up to the move had been increasingly awkward for Hermione, and she knew that Professor Snape had to be uncomfortable letting her into his home, or wherever it was they were going.

Snape nodded his head at her. Hermione had noticed him doing that more and more frequently. It seemed he didn’t know what to call her now that ‘Ms. Granger’ was out of commission. 

*Are you ready?* he asked calmly, staying out of arms reach.

*Yes, the house elves have gathered my things for me.*

*Good. We will leave after Poppy has released you.*

They waited in relative silence for Madam Pomfrey to exit her office and give Hermione one last round of potions and a final diagnostic charm. 

Hermione closed her trunk, fingers itching for her wand. She would feel so much calmer with it in her grasp. 

The silence was just becoming awkward when Madam Pomfrey came out with her usual tray. 

“Severus,” she greeted warmly. 

“Poppy,” he replied neutrally. 

“Alright, Hermione,” the Matron said, setting her tray down on the bedside table. “One final round of potions and you can be on your way.”

Hermione tossed them back, squirming in discomfort after they were all swallowed. Even after a week of being back, her stomach was having a hard time being full.   
“Good girl,” Poppy encouraged. 

Hermione twitched when she raised her wand for the diagnostic. 

“You are set to go, my dear. Remember to keep up with your salve, and if you need more, Severus would be glad to make it for you. The muscle growth potion will be started in two days to give your stomach a rest from all the potions.”

Hermione smiled in relief.

*Thank you* she spoke in Poppy’s mind. They had realized she could do it quite by accident.

Hermione and Severus had been having a conversation, and Hermione had automatically turned to Madam Pomfrey to ask her a question, but instead of trying to speak out loud, she had done it with her mind. It had been quite a shock to the school mediwitch, who had sent her pile of levitating sheets flying towards the ceiling. 

“You’re quite welcome, my dear girl. Now, you and Severus have a safe journey and I will see you again in a week for a check up.”

Hermione couldn’t believe she was leaving just like that. She hadn’t even left the hospital wing since she’d been brought to Hogwarts. 

“If you would allow me, I shall shrink your trunk,” Severus said. 

Hermione nodded, stepping back from the bed and allowing him to step forward to perform the magic.

Wordlessly, the trunk was shrunk to fit in the professor’s hand and slipping into a deep robe pocket. 

*Thank you, Professor.*

He just nodded again.

*Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey,* Hermione said. If she had spoken it aloud, her tears would be obvious. The situation was overwhelming for the young woman.

“Pish,” the Matron said, waving her hand. “‘Twas an honor. I know you will be just fine.”

Hermione smiled at the woman who had cared for her over the past long, terribly hard week. She knew she looked pitiful with her under eye bags and deep pink scars on her face, but Poppy never seemed to mind. 

“We must be on our way,” Severus announced. “Albus has set the portkey to leave in fifteen minutes.”

Hermione turned away from the matron, wishing she was brave enough to give her a hug goodbye. 

Severus and Hermione walked side by side out the door, though they were the usual out of arm's length distance to keep Hermione’s anxiety at a manageable level.

“I have only ever been to our destination twice before,” Severus said. He was quite good at keeping a one-sided conversation, which, for some reason, surprised Hermione. “And both times were several years ago, so we will both be surprised. It was quite nice when I was there last.”

The location had been kept a secret from Hermione, something that irked her completely.

“Albus had Dobby sent over to get it ready for our arrival. I’m told we are going at the best time of year. Gumdrop,” he said dryly.

The gargoyle before them moved aside to reveal a rising staircase. Professor Snape stepped on first, trusting Hermione to follow. After adjusting her sweater mittens, she alighted the moving staircase as well. 

“Enter,” the Headmaster called when they reached the top. 

Hermione was amazed that Dumbledore knew they were there, while Severus just rolled his eyes towards the ceiling like he was praying for patience.

He turned the nob and stepped in, holding the door for Hermione. She skirted through the entrance and moved to stand before the Headmaster’s desk. 

“Good afternoon, Severus, Hermione,” he greeted. 

“Albus,” Severus replied. 

Hermione nodded at the Headmaster. 

“Here is your portkey,” he said, standing and gesturing to a golden pen on the cluttered desk. “It is set to take off in two minutes. Any questions?”

Hermione’s throat felt tight. Honestly, why was she so nervous?

“No, Headmaster.”

“You remember what I told you, Severus?” Dumbledore asked seriously. 

Hermione glanced between the two men.

“Yes, Albus.”

“Good. Now, if you would both place a finger on the portkey, we shall wait together.”

Hermione dragged the pen closer to the edge of the desk while Severus stepped forward to stand beside her, careful as he was to keep them from touching. She shivered, not having been that close to anyone besides Madam Pomfrey in some time. She watched her professor out of the corner of her eye.

“Letters are free to come and go, correct?” Severus asked suddenly, making Hermione jump.

“Yes, my boy. There is an owl there waiting for the both of you. Her name is Parisa. She is a very calm bird.”

Hermione felt herself relaxing. With Crookshanks and Parisa, she was sure she wouldn’t get lonely. 

“I’m told your friends are anxious to hear from you, Hermione,” Dumbledore said, checking his pocket watch. “Twenty seconds, my friends. Any other questions?”

“No,” Professor Snape said. 

*Thank you for arranging this, sir,* Hermione said quietly. She was barely making eye contact with the older wizard.

*You’re quite welcome, my dear. If you need anything at all, owl myself or Madam Pomfrey. We would be glad to be of assistance.*

He checked his pocket watch again.

“Five seconds. Have a safe journey.”

There was a beat of silence, and then a yanking from behind her navel. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the dizziness. The harsh spinning seemed to calm down, but her dizziness kept up. A gentle hand grabbed her elbow, making her eyes jerk open.

Professor Snape was guiding them down to the ground, where Hermione was sure to have smacked into. She was shivering despite the heat. As soon as their feet touched the ground, Severus let go of her elbow.

Hermione, in her dizziness, dipped to the side.

“Easy,” Severus said, holding her elbow again.

She hoped he didn’t notice her shaking. 

*I’m fine,* she said, trying to focus on his eyes while everything else spun. Her stomach seemed to be roiling, which, in turn, was making her anxiously sweat. She really didn’t like to be nauseous. 

Snape just rolled his eyes and waited for her to steady herself. 

*Thank you,* she said, moving her elbow out of Severus’s grasp.

She was just realizing that the whooshing she’d been hearing wasn’t because of her dizziness. She turned slowly, almost allowing her jaw to drop at the sight before her.   
Crystal clear, blue ocean stretched as far as she could see. With so few clouds in the sky, she could barely tell where the water ended and the sky began. A small dock sat a ways down the beach (the beach!) and the sun brushed her skin. Her anxious sweat turned to an overheated sweat, but she didn’t mind overly much with such beauty in front of her.

“I hope you like the beach, Little One,” Severus said amusedly. “We will be spending quite some time here.”

She turned again, feeling a genuine smile, small though it was, on her face.

*It’s beautiful,* she said, utterly in awe. *Where are we?*

“I’m not sure,” Severus said.

Hermione tilted her head in confusion.

“This house belongs to Albus. It was used as a safe house during the war. He agreed to let us stay here.”

*Safe house?* Hermione asked, anxiety creeping back up. *Why do we need to stay at a safe house? I thought all the Death Eaters were captured and tried.*

Hermione’s breathing suddenly felt too tight to be natural, and she put a hand over her heart.

Severus took a step forward, and Hermione took a panicked step back. A flash of something crossed his features before disappearing completely. He raised his hands in the ‘I surrender’ position.

*You are not in danger,* he said calmly. *The Death Eaters have been captured, and those who haven’t have been killed. We are here, within secure wards, simply because we assumed it would make you feel better about being away from your parents. You are not in danger,* he repeated. 

Hermione nodded, squeezing her sweater mittens. 

*Take a deep breath, Little One.*

Hermione watched as Severus took an exaggerated breath and tried to imitate it. 

When Severus deemed her breathing acceptable, he spoke again, this time out loud.

“When you are ready, we will go inside. If you want to stay out for a while, that is fine too.”

The realization that this was the first time she had been outside while conscious in over two weeks was staggering. She slowly turned her back on Severus and faced the steadily pounding waves. She let her mind drift in a way it hadn’t for a long time. How peaceful it was to listen to the never ending waves and feel the sun directly on her skin again. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Severus said quietly, breaking Hermione’s spell. 

She turned back, feeling sand slip into her trainers. 

“Madam Pomfrey didn’t think your body could handle using it so soon; that is why I haven’t given it to you yet.” 

Hermione’s heart seemed to stop. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? 

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a long, light brown stick of wood. Nothing had ever been more beautiful to Hermione than her wand in that moment.

A strangled gasp escaped her, hands automatically reaching for it. 

Snape handed it over immediately. When Hermione’s hands touched the familiar vine wood, a warmth flowed through her hands, straight to her heart. Tears came to her eyes, and she held her wand close to her chest. Just holding it helped her to relax her muscles and feel more secure in her own body.

*Thank you,* she said, tears sparkling on her lashes. 

If he was the type of person who shrugged, Hermione was sure he would have.

*It was of no consequence.*

*It is to me. Oh, thank you, sir!* 

Hermione stepped forward like she was intending to hug him. They both froze when they realized what her intention was. Hermione reeled back.

*I’m sorry. That was presumptuous.* And skin crawling, and nerve tingling, and not right, not rightnotrightnotright-

*If you wish to initiate contact, I have nothing against it,* Severus said formally. *I only wish you to be comfortable with it.*

Did Snape just say Hermione was allowed to hug him? 

Not that she would, but just the idea of it… He always seemed like the type of person who carried a yardstick around and kept the same amount of distance with everyone. She’d never even seen him shake hands.

*Would you be comfortable?*

Severus studied her for a long moment.

*Yes. I would be.* He glanced toward the house, drawing Hermione’s gaze toward it.

“We should be going inside. I don’t want you to overheat.”

The fact that he was a wizard who could easily cast a cooling charm either didn’t occur to him, or he was anxious to get inside and away from any conversation about hugging.  
As they walked through the sand toward the stairs leading up to the small cottage, Hermione couldn’t help but admire it. It was a soft white with navy shutters on the numerous windows, and, though it was small, it had two stories. A wide veranda ran around the house, seemingly to the back as well, rocking chairs moving gently in the breeze. A chimney stuck up from the dark roof towards the sky. 

Hermione fingered her wand as she walked up the stairs. She was embarrassed to be huffing, out of breath, by the time she reached the top. 

The front door squealed as it opened. Hermione had a flash of a group of children running laughingly out the door, letting it bang shut behind them. She shook it off.  
The floors were made of a dark wood, a soothing contrast to the brightness of the outside. The walls were a light grey, and Hermione was surprised to see sketches up on the walls. 

Severus led her into the kitchen, telling her where to find things as he went. The living room, dining room, and sunroom were next. The sunroom looked like somewhere Hermione would spend the majority of her time. It had two couches lining the walls, with soft cushions and a coffee table.

“There are three bedrooms. One is on the first floor,” he gestured to the door on the left, leaving only a door at the end of the hall unexplored. “-and the other two are on the second. Pick whichever one you like.”

Hermione knew right away that she would be taking one of the two on the second floor. The idea of sleeping by herself on the first floor made her stomach do flips. 

Hermione made her way up the stairs, holding her wand and the railing as she went. She really was getting tired, and she couldn’t tell if it was from her bout of anxiety outside or because this was the most exercise she’d gotten in a week. 

Adjusting her sweatpants to stop them from rubbing on her still sensitive scars, Hermione opened the first door on the left. A large bed sat against a wall of windows, letting in the afternoon sunlight. The whole room seemed to be filled with it, awash in the soft glow. Hermione could tell that this room would get the best lighting in the evening, with the sun sinking below the blue horizon. 

A white, vintage wardrobe stood to the left of the door. There were no less than four plush, white rugs in the room. One stood in front of the wardrobe, two on either side of the bed, and one underneath the small writing desk in the corner. Only a quill, ink, and stack of parchment stood on top. 

Hermione backed out of the room without touching anything.

A quick peek in the room across the hall showed a full bathroom with a clawfoot tub and a cream curtain hanging off to the side, ready to be pulled. A toilet sat behind a half wall, with the sink in front of it. 

The next room, at the end of the hall, was smaller, but cozier. It held similar furniture to the first bedroom, though the wardrobe was a dark wood like the floor. The windows were smaller and overlooked a large, thriving garden in the backyard. 

Hermione decided she liked the first bedroom the most, and hoped Severus wouldn’t mind that she had chosen it. Surely if he did, he would have claimed it, though. 

Hermione walked back down the stairs, noticing the last step creaked. The hominess of it made her smile. 

*I decided on the first bedroom,* she said when Severus looked up from the inventory he was taking in the kitchen cupboards. 

*Good choice. That room has the best light in the house,* he said, echoing her thoughts. 

*If you want it, I can-*

*Do I seem like the type to be picky about which room I stay in, Miss - Hermione?* he admonished lightly.

*No, sir,* she replied, flushing. 

He waved his hand in a ‘there you have it’ gesture. 

*Here is your trunk,* he said, placing it on the kitchen island. *If you feel yourself straining in an abnormal way when you enlarge it, please come and get me. I would not want to have to send you back to Poppy after just collecting you.*

Hermione nodded and took the trunk, excited to use her magic. 

When she stepped into her room, she let herself fully take it in. The sun was sparkling off the water, and a group of squawking seagulls seemed to be having an argument.   
Hermione missed Crookshanks. 

She laid her trunk down on the bed, running her hands over the soft throw at the end. Raising her wand, she pointed it at her trunk, automatically opening her mouth the say the spell.

When she realized just what it was that she was doing, she snapped her mouth closed, breathing harshly through her nose.

She couldn’t say the spell. She had no tongue to say the spell. With her throat permanently burned like it was, her voice sounded like Bellatrix’s, anyway. It’s not like she wanted to use it ever again.

Hermione slipped through the fog of her mental barrier and into her library. 

____

*Hermione,* Severus called. 

She could feel him step through the entrance. She stayed quiet. She knew she could hide from him forever if she wanted to, but she also knew that Severus would never let that happen.

With a sigh, Hermione drifted slowly toward the entrance.

*Hermione?*

*I’m coming,* she called softly.

Severus waited (im)patiently for her to make her way up front. 

*Can I ask what set it off?* he asked.

*I can’t say the spell,* Hermione made known. *Then I thought about why I can’t say it.*

Severus drifted a little closer. 

*Would you like me to say it, or would you like to try to do it non verbally?*

*I want to try, I just… I’ve never done it before.*

*I can teach you,* Severus offered. *I can’t guarantee that you will get it on the first try, but I can guarantee that you will get it. You are one of the most stubborn, dedicated students of your day.*

*Thank you, sir. Would you please do the spell this time, and tell me what to do so I can practice?*

*If you wish. Are you ready to leave?*

Hermione sighed, drifting back and forth while trying to decide if she really was ready. After a moment of indecision, she drifted toward Severus so he could help her out. Instead of enveloping her like he usually did, he seemed to almost grab her hand. 

*You can do it.*

They stepped out together, Severus bracing Hermione’s fall back into her body like usual.

The first thing she noticed was that her feet hurt, really bad. The second thing was that she was still standing, and after drifting back into her body mostly by herself, she swayed. 

“Easy,” Severus said.

Hermione flinched at the sudden voice, no matter how quiet Severus’s voice was.

*I’m alright.*

Once Severus was satisfied that she wasn’t about to fall over, he waved his wand toward her trunk, undoing his shrinking charm. 

Hermione studied him, noticing how defined his wand movements were. She glanced up at his face, seeing him watching her study him. She blushed. 

She sat down on the bed beside her trunk.

*Thank you,* Hermione said gratefully. *I’m tired. I might take a short nap, if you don’t mind.*

*I don’t mind. Poppy told me to encourage you to nap when needed, anyhow.* 

Hermione flushed, knowing they were talking about her horrendous sleeping patterns behind her back. 

*I will leave you to your rest.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it ended really suddenly. Sorry 'bout that. Leave a comment, if you want!


	7. Raspberry Lemonade and a Furry Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets Parisa and gets a surprise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all! This is so late, and I am so (so!) sorry! I hope you haven't forgotten about this story. 
> 
> The good news is that midterms are over. The bad news is that finals are coming. There is literally a month before the semester ends. *stReSs*
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient, and I will try my best to keep on schedule. Also: I found out how to make italicized letters! Would you all prefer that I use those instead of the *mind speech* or leave it as is? Let me know!
> 
> **TW:** Dissociation, anxiety attack, body memory (kinda?)
> 
> Let me know if I need to add more!

When Hermione woke, bleary eyed and amazed at her lack of nightmares, she glanced around and saw that the sun was setting. It really was so lovely there.

Her stomach growled, shocking her. The whole time she had been back had been building up her stamina for food. 

She felt a thrill of nerves as her hand connected to the door handle. She tried to shake it off and smoothly opening the door, glad that it didn’t squeak. At the bottom of the stairs, she could see Snape sitting at the table with a glass of pink liquid. He was wearing another white shirt, which was still strange to see, but what really surprised her was her furry friend sitting on the chair beside her. 

Crookshanks looked up lazily, but when he made eye contact with his person, he yowled. A strange, choked noise came out of Hermione’s throat, but she couldn’t give the attention it took to be bothered by it. Her knees hit the floor and a ball of orange fur with his familiar mashed nose sprang into her arms. 

She didn’t realize she was crying until Crookshanks rubbed his face over hers, coming away wet. Only then did she realize the horrible noises that were coming from her chest. Hermione buried her face in Crookshanks' chest and breathed deep, trying to stop it. 

She was just so relieved to see him. 

Crookshanks' purring was vibrating her whole upper body. Good boy, she thought, desperately wishing she could talk to him. She pet him fiercely instead, keeping clear of his left hip, which she had deemed his “bite button”. It was still sensitive from whatever injury he had sustained before coming into her care. 

When Hermione finally looked up from her happy cat, Snape had gotten her a glass of the same pink liquid he’d had. He raised his eyebrow, but the quirk of his lips took away the sting. 

“A Hogwarts elf dropped him off about half an hour ago,” he informed her. 

*Thank you so much!* She sent a little bit of her joy at him, careful not to flood him. *You don’t know what this means, thank you.*

“I think I can gather, Little One,” he said, amused. Or, as much amused as Snape ever showed. 

Hermione stood, Crookshanks still in her arms and sat down at the table across from Snape. This was the best she’d felt in a long time. 

*How did you know I...wasn’t all there?* she asked cautiously, taking a flavorless sip of what she assumed was strawberry lemonade. Crookshanks bonked her chin with his head when she stopped petting. 

*I didn’t until I came upstairs. You had left the door open, and I saw you standing there. It had been an hour since you went upstairs, and your trunk was still sitting there. I asked if you needed help but you didn’t answer, and that is when I realized you “weren’t all there”.*

Hermione realized he might have been over-explaining a tad, but it comforted her to know that he had left her to her own devices and not barged in. 

She nodded. *Thank you for your help.*

Snape tossed back the rest of his drink. *I am glad to be of service. I met Parisa earlier today. She lives in the shed if you want to say hello.*

*Oh, yes!* Hermione agreed. *I wanted to let my parents and friends know I got here safely.*

Hermione felt her spirits sink as she contemplated how long it would be until she saw her parents again. She was sure they were out of their minds with worry. She wished to comfort them. 

*I have yet to unpack,* Snape started. *If you will excuse me, I will see to it.*

*Yes, of course,* she said, kissing the top of Crookshanks' head when he offered it. *I’m sorry to have kept you.*

*You didn’t,* was all he said in return. 

_______

Parisa turned out to be very calm indeed. Crookshanks tended to dislike other animals, especially ones Hermione showed attention to; he was a hog in that way. But, Hermione, not wanting to set down her dear friend even for a moment, decided to take him with her to meet the new owl. 

To her surprise, he reacted well. As long as Hermione kept petting him in his favorite spots behind his ears and on his chest, he let Hermione nonverbally coo and pet Parisa with no complaints. 

Parisa was a soft brown barn owl with deep black eyes that seemed remarkably intelligent, even for a magical creature. Her white, heart-shaped face was made even cuter when she tilted it in curiosity. She seemed to never have met a creature like Crookshanks before. Parisa fluttered her wings and tried to reach out a foot to poke Crookshanks with, but the half kneazle hissed. 

Parisa seemed to take it well and merely withdrew the offered foot. Crookshanks, on the other hand, seemed mortally offended that the strange owl would dare to touch him. Hermione knew he was uncomfortable with how sharp her talons were, and tried her best to comfort him. 

She wondered if Parisa was allowed inside the house.

Eventually, Hermione could sense that Parisa was getting tired after being woken twice during her usual sleep time. So, reluctantly, she left the kind bird and went back inside. Hermione hadn’t realized before, but as soon as she stepped out of the shed, she was overwhelmed by the heat. 

She knew it wasn’t wise to keep up with her sweater and sweatpants habit in the summer heat of wherever they were, but she still couldn’t help it. It was like another layer of protection she didn’t seem to be able to shake. 

If she didn’t need both hands to hold Crookshanks, she would be fanning the collar of her sweater. 

Hermione was quick to reenter the house after that.

She decided to sit in the sun room and enjoy the view of the garden and the large expanse of tall grass. With her legs curled up under her and Crookshanks purring in her lap, she almost felt at peace for a moment. With the perfect coolness of the room and the weight of Crookshanks on her lap (really, his position looked quite uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem like he would be moving anytime soon) she felt like she could fall asleep again. 

She had just taken a nap, really. She shouldn’t be this tired. 

Instead, she tried to see if she could identify what plants were growing in the garden outside. She knew there were roses along the back of the house, and almost thought she could smell them, even from inside. 

Hermione could see what looked like a tomato plant, though the actual fruits were still a light orange. A few rows of corn stood behind them, and a huge lemon tree behind those. A strawberry plant stood on the side of the shed where she knew it would get the light and shade it needed. 

The rest of the garden consisted of lettuce and other green bits that Hermione figured where root vegetables. 

She only just realized that her stomach was no longer growling when Crookshanks headbutted her sternum. She looked down sharply at him, still mindful of her many (many) injuries and he paused in his repeated greeting. 

Hermione soothed his left ear, even while standing up, determined to find out what Snape had given her. She wasn’t stupid. Even with over a week of forced starvation, she’d been recuperating for just as long. She should still be hungry after one glass of juice, which made her suspicious of said juice.

At the bottom of the stairs, she paused. No matter how curious (and maybe a little scared) she was, she couldn’t just walk into Snape’s bedroom. She could feel the blood draining from her head.

Crookshanks yowled, pulling her attention to the displeased feline in her arms. As soon as she realized she was gripping him too tightly, she opened her arms and let him jump out. As he jumped, his back claws scraped her hip through her pants.

A choked noise escaped her mouth as she bent forward. Logically, she knew it wasn’t that bad, but the pain of his claws was too familiar. 

Her breath escaped in a silent cry and she grabbed the handrail to steady herself. She could breathe, she was fine as long as she could breathe, she was safe - 

“Hermione?” Professor Snape asked from the top of the stairs. 

She tilted her head up, mind fogging. 

“What happened?” he asked, socked foot hovering on the first step down.

Hermione shook her head slowly. It was strange - she knew she was still anxious, and her body definitely knew it, if the twitchy shakiness was anything to go by, but at the same time it seemed to be muted. Was that even her feeling? She glanced over and saw a pale, clenched hand on the handrail. Whose hand was that? Whose feet were these?

“Little One, look at me,” she heard Snape say. 

She gazed up at him and watched as he slowly descended the stairs toward her. She didn’t want him to touch her. But this wasn’t her body, so did it really matter? She probably wouldn’t feel it if he hurt her.

“Hermione. Focus on me,” he said.

Hermione blinked slowly, focusing on his face. Professor Snape had such deep, dark eyes. It was like looking through the stars to see how far you could see into space.  
“Can you hear me?”

Hermione thought she was nodding her head.

“Good. Can you tell me what is wrong?” Snape was now three steps away. 

She couldn’t, so she just tried to send him a feeling. What were thoughts, anyway? She’d had moments before when she was overwhelmed by the human mind, but this was different. She couldn’t make sense of her own mind. Where did thoughts come from? 

“Can I touch you?” he asked carefully. 

Hermione felt vague terror, but before she could respond, he continued.

“You are dissociating right now, Hermione. You can say no, and I will let Crookshanks continue to help you.”

Continue? 

Hermione looked down and saw him scratching at legs she assumed were hers. She looked back up at Snape and nodded, slowly. 

Snape took a pause after each step, making sure it wouldn’t make her dissociation worse. 

Hermione watched him reach out and place pale fingers over the clenched, white hand on the rail. He peeled the fingers up, one by one and replaced their hold on the rail with his hand. So focused was she on watching him hold her hand, that she didn’t notice Snape pick up her other hand from her hip until she felt a strange sensation, like fabric brushing over skin. 

Quickly, Hermione glanced over to see him rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Can you feel that, Little One?” 

Hermione didn’t think he really expected an answer, but she nodded her head once anyway. She could, sort of. 

“Good,” he said calmly. “I’m going to move up your arms now, but I will go no further than your elbows, alright?”

Hermione nodded again. He put her hands up on his shoulders, Hermione feeling the white fabric of his shirt, she thought. He rubbed his hands on her forearms, always above her sweater. When he started reaching close to the inside of her arm where her ‘mudblood’ scar was, she could feel her muscles contract in a twitch. 

Calmly, he shifted his fingers back to the top and rubbed in circles. 

“Did you meet Parisa?” he asked, seemingly randomly.

She nodded again, her head feeling a little like it might fall off at any second.

“Dumbledore was right about her. She really is a gentle bird. I was thinking about inviting her inside sometime, if you were willing.”

Hermione nodded again, a little firmer.

*She’s nice* Hermione whispered into his mind.

His lips quirked up into a half smile, hands never ceasing their movements. 

“Dumbledore assures me she is a very quick bird as well. If you sent a letter to your friends today, you would potentially have their response by tonight,” he said.  
She just nodded again. If not for the wards, she would have expected Hedwig already. 

Hermione twitched back as a firm pressure on her arm startled her. Snape, calm as ever, simply continued rubbing up her hands and arms. 

“Can you feel that?” he asked. 

*Yes,* she told him.

“Good.” The fact that he was speaking out loud didn’t escape her. 

After a moment or two, Hermione glanced down at a rough push at her leg. Crookshanks was standing on his hind legs and scraping his paws down her leg. _Good Crookshanks_, she wanted to say. 

A brush of skin as light as feathers tickled between her fingers in the soft spot that felt oddly vulnerable. It dawned on her what she was letting Snape do. To her, it seemed like she yanked her hands down from his shoulders, but, in her “out of it” mind, she simply let them fall off and took a step back. 

She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Are you feeling...more yourself?” Professor Snape asked.

Hermione raised her hand in a ‘sort of’ gesture and made sweater mittens as soon as she was done. She backed up to sit at the kitchen table, Crookshanks dutifully following behind. 

*I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,* she admitted softly.

“Do you know what dissociation is?” 

*Vaguely.* She thought she’d read about it in one of her mother’s psychology books.

“There are multiple types, but witnessing it firsthand, I am assuming what you just experienced was depersonalization.” He sat down across from her and folded his hands to rest on the table top. “It occurs when your brain gets too far into the “fight, flight, freeze” response to stress.”

Hermione nodded, the information coming back to her. *I think you are right,* she agreed. 

She reached down to help Crookshanks onto her lap. He rubbed his face against her raised hand, seemingly apologizing. Hermione scratched his ear in response.

She still felt...dazed? There wasn’t a good word for it, but the reason she had been heading upstairs came back to her. 

*What did you put in my drink?* she asked suddenly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. 

*Don’t say nothing. I’m not as stupid as you think.” Chin raising, she met his eyes for the first time unnecessarily. 

“I don’t think you are stupid, Mi - Hermione,” he said, left eye twitching slightly.

Hermione wondered if that was his tell.

*Yes, you do. Now please answer my question.* 

As whatever had happened continued to fade, her anxiety was rising. She’d had enough of being force fed unknown substances. (It didn’t matter at that point that she hadn’t asked what she was being given.)

*I mixed a glass of raspberry lemonade with your nutrient potion,* he said, projecting the truth of his words into her mind. 

*You can do that?* she asked, stunned. *Harry would love-* She cut herself off.

Harry had had to take nutrient potions every fall term since the second year. He didn’t like anyone to know, and he would _especially_ not appreciate her telling the professor he got along with the worst with. Well...Umbridge might have to take that title. 

“As long as the substance will not interfere, you can mix potions with it. In this case, both fruits are used in healing balms, so it only helps your stomach handle the potion.”  
She sat in silence for a moment, occupying her sweater covered hands by wiping them down Crookshanks back.

*Can you please let me know next time you mix something?* she requested, glancing up through her eyelashes.

“As you wish,” he acquiesced. 

*I don’t mind what you give me as long as you let me know what it is,* she told him. *I need to know what is going in my body, Professor.*

Snape nodded. “I understand, and I am sorry I did not let you know. It won’t happen again.”

*Thank you,* she said, standing, more than ready to leave the awkward conversation. *For helping me, and for the potion.*

Something flickered in Snape’s eyes to quickly to decipher. 

He nodded his head slightly. 

“You are due for your pain and healing potions in about an hour. Would you like to come down and get them, or would you like me to bring them to you?” 

*I will come down,* she said, scrunching her shoulders up. *I have a few letters to write until then.*

“As you wish,” he repeated.


	8. You and Me, Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet dreams, princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not dead - I have no excuse. On another note, there is a winter storm warning where I live, and we are locked inside. So I might actually get some writing done!
> 
> ** TW:** Auditory flashback, anxiety, trauma recovery, nightmares (let me know if I should add anything else!)
> 
> This is a short one, and, if I'm honest, a little bit of a filler.

A horrible sick feeling crept into Hermione as she lay in bed, staring at the closed door. She felt like she had done something wrong, horribly wrong, but she didn’t quite know what. She felt dirty inside. 

Crookshanks stared from the foot of the bed. Hermione hadn’t moved since she’d burrowed under the covers - she’d found it was much easier to sleep if all of her was covered, except her face so she could still see out. But tonight, it seemed like she wasn’t destined to get sleep. Curse her mid-afternoon nap.

The sick feeling crept along her body like fingers of dread, prodding in all the wrong places. 

Laying down felt too exposed and sitting up was too uncomfortable, so she sat up, ignoring the stretch of all her healing scars, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The light was already on - she couldn’t sleep without it - and she stepped immediately into the pacing rhythm she’d picked up at Hogwarts. 

There was a slight problem; with every step there was a quiet squeak to the floor. To Hermione’s overwhelmed senses, it seemed loud enough to wake Parisa, if the bird had been sleeping, not to mention the professor down the hall. 

She halted her steps, feeling frustrated tears burning her eyes. What was she supposed to do? A vague, but powerful, hopelessness settled over her like a heavy shroud. 

“It’s just you and me, Princess,” a familiar rough voice whispered. 

Hermione gasped and glanced around, even knowing it was just a memory. Quickly snatching the soft throw blanket from underneath Crookshanks (who hissed at the sudden thievery), Hermione wrapped it snugly around her shoulders. She looked around, not knowing quite what to do.

Spying the tip of her wand poking out from her pillow, Hermione eased it out from under the soft sheets. For a moment all she did was eye the tool in her hands.

_Engorgio!_ She thought, trying to imagine her magic enlarging the beautiful black quill on the desk. She’d done this before, why wouldn’t she be able to do it now?

Hermione thought she saw the quill twitch, but it refused to grow. 

She shrugged the blanket, not liking how flimsy it felt. She wanted her - Professor Snape’s - green one that felt like a fabric shield. But, like a dunderhead, she’d left it in the sunroom. Hermione adjusted her sweatpants, eyeing the door uncomfortably. 

She never liked leaving her room at night, not even _before_. But she really wanted that blanket. 

Hermione wished she could train Crookshanks to fetch. She finally let her foot stomp onto the ground, beyond frustrated at herself.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her. Eyes widening, Hermione stared at the light brown surface.

“Hermione?” Snape called softly. “I won’t come in, but I could hear you moving around. Is everything alright?”

She approached the door slowly, knowing the professor could hear the squeaking of the floorboards. 

Hermione twisted the door knob.

Professor Snape eyed her, face blank. Hermione shivered, unable to keep it back. She didn’t like seeing him like that, like he wasn’t really there at all, but rather the persona he used to spy on Voldemort. 

*I’m sorry to wake you,* she started before he could say anything.

“You didn’t,” he replied, glancing down at her blanket. “I was still awake and I heard you walking around.”

*Then I am sorry to bother you,* she insisted, trying to cover her hands with the light blanket but not being able to without it slipping off her shoulders. 

“You did not,” he said firmly. “Is there anything I can help with? Dreamless Sleep, perhaps?”

*No! No.* She inched the door forward a little, putting more of a barrier between them. *But I was wondering if I could borrow your green blanket. I’m afraid this one is too...light,* she finished, trying not to make it sound odd.

Snape nodded, still with his blank face. Behind her, Hermione heard Crookshanks jump off the bed, large paws thudding on the floor, and wound his way around her feet. 

The professor glanced down at the purring ball of orange fur. He seemed to study Crookshanks for a moment before reaching for his wand.

Nonverbally (Hermione was _so_ jealous), Professor Snape summoned the perfect green blanket that she loved. 

“Here,” he said, handing her the green fabric. 

Unlike every other time he’d handed her something, he didn’t set it somewhere for her to grab on the off chance that they would touch if he didn’t. 

Hermione stared at the blanket, internally debating whether to snatch it and close the door or attempt to be polite. 

Uncovering her hand, she reached out slowly, trying to eye both the professor’s face and his hands. Her hand closed around the soft fabric, and Snape let it slide out of his grip. 

*Thank you.*

He inclined his head. “You are welcome. Is there anything else you require?”

*No, sir,* she said, fiddling with the blanket in her grasp. 

“Very well,” he said. “Good night, Miss Granger.”

He turned away, heading back to his room. Hermione's nose scrunched. She didn't like when he called her that.

The door shut with a soft snick. Hermione threw the throw onto the bed and wrapped herself in the green blanket. 

Face flushing, even though no one but Crookshanks was there to see her, Hermione pulled the blanket up over her head like a hood. 

She snatched a book off the nightstand and sat back on the bed with her sore back to the headboard. The pillows were soft and eased some of the constant ache. 

Hermione had to let go of the clutch she had on the blanket, right under her chin to keep the hood in place. Reading required her to use two hands, after all. 

The hood part of her covering slid back, exposing her face. The cool air brushed her hot forehead. Hermione shifted and rewrapped herself into a sort of burrito with arms sticking out. 

Crookshanks curled up at her feet, sitting directly on top. She had no idea how that was comfortable to him, but it kept her feet warm so she didn't move him.

The sick feeling never left entirely, but the familiarity of reading, cuddled up with Crookshanks, was enough to let her slip into an uneasy sleep. Her mental shields were up, perhaps too high, but it was easier to push the discomfort past the point of feeling.

She never had been particularly verbal during nightmares, so it came as no surprise when Crookshanks woke her instead of Professor Snape. The kneazle was switching between pouncing on her thigh and kneading her through the thick green blanket. 

When Hermione reached out to shove him away in her panic, Crooshanks allowed it. A deep rumble reached Hermione's ears, so singularly recognizable that it automatically put her at ease.  
The light was still on, and as soon as panic and sleep were cleared from her eyes she could see her pet sitting towards the end of the bed, eyeing her with his eerily intelligent eyes. 

She wiggled her fingers to get him to come close again, breath hitching in the remains of her panic. 

Crookshanks obliged, toddling forward over layers of blankets to flop over on Hermione's lap. She allowed him to steadily lick the hand that wasn't methodically petting him. 

Hermione wished she could speak, but at the moment the thought crossed her mind, she felt her throat squeeze. Not like she was being strangled; no, it was a different feeling. It was more like when your throat gets so sore you just know that when you open your mouth, no sound will come out. 

A quick glance at the clock above her nightstand showed it was only 2:30 in the morning. The soft woosh of the waves whispered through the panels of her window. In that moment, she had the urge to walk out and submerge herself in the water, to feel the push and pull of the tides. 

The heavy weight of Crooks on her lap (and her apprehension about entering the dark hallway) kept her planted on the bed. 

Hermione couldn't tell if the sharp ache in her body was phantom pain or if her body was reminding her that her pain management potion was wearing off. 

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Hermione closed her book. 

Grey light was slipping in through the curtains. After feeling stifled for the past several hours in trying to allow Professor Snape peaceful rest, Hermione couldn’t restrain the urge to open her window wide and feel the cool morning breeze. 

What a beautiful reminder it was that the air she breathed was no longer dank with mold and rat droppings, nor metallic with blood. The salt in the air wiped away almost everything else.  
Hermione slipped the window open as silently as she could. It was only five in the morning, but summer days started earlier and the hint of sun illuminated the wet beach and glinting waves as the tide washed back out. 

She wondered absentmindedly if she would be able to send sand dollars and shells to her friends. Harry would appreciate that especially - his last, and only, trip to the sea side had been Shell Cottage. Hermione shuddered. Bill and Fleur had provided a safe place to bury Dobby and recover, but that time was not a good one, and she didn’t like to be reminded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you guys think? I love Crookshanks! I want a cat so bad - Mom, I'm looking at you! (JK, she's super allergic to cats!)


	9. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a roller coaster, you guys. It also hasn't been edited, so if you see anything I need to fix, please, please let me know!
> 
> **TW** Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Flashback, demeaning language
> 
> As always, let me know if I need to add any.

Hermione ruthlessly decided that she would master the art of a non-verbal cooling charm if it killed her. She was only willing to roll her sleeves up a couple of times, and that was only if Severus stayed inside. 

A glint of pink caught her eye, and she crouched down, knees cracking, to see if the beautiful, sunset colored shell was occupied. Hermione tapped it lightly with her wand, and when nothing stirred she decided it was safe and added it to her small basket. 

The wet wash of cool water surprised her, as she didn’t realize she was so close to the shore line. She stood, amazed, as it flowed back out. She could feel the sand shift between her bare toes; the only compromise she was willing to make with herself was leaving her shoes at the door.

Mesmerized, she took a step closer. A hoarse giggle slipped through her lips as the salty water splashed up her pant legs, soaking the fabric. Hermione wondered what it would feel like to submerge herself fully clothed. Of course, she’d been in the ocean before when she’d taken a trip to the south of France with her parents. But that was years ago, and the memories were tinged with a slight nostalgia for her younger years. 

She ultimately decided not to and located a few more sand dollars and shells so she could have one for all the Weasleys and her parents. (If she got a few to keep around the cottage, well, that was her own business.)

Hermione almost jumped for joy when she managed a weak, non-verbal aguamenti to wash her feet off at the door. She was so happy she almost considered telling Professor Snape about it, but since she’d done non-verbal spells before, it wasn’t actually that much of an achievement, she reminded herself. 

She placed a couple of her treasures next to the sea glass jars on the window sill, hoping Severus either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t mind. With his observation skills, the former seemed incredibly unlikely. 

Hermione forced the feeling of her skin stretching over scars away as she took the steps to the second floor. Physically, she was mostly fine; the only thing that caused real pain were the burns in her throat and stomach.

Madame Pomfrey truly was a genius in medicine. Her infections were all gone and the salve was soothing her scars. It was easy to believe that some might even fade with time. Of course, curse scars never went away, but some of hers had come about by physical violence, not magical.

She refused to continue that line of thinking.

A soft knock sounded on the frame of her bedroom door, even though it was open. Hermione twitched anyway.

"Would you like to accompany me to my lab?" Professor Snape asked. "Poppy requested I bring a few potions when we visit tomorrow and while I could finish them on my own, it would take me well into the night." 

Hermione nodded, smoothing the bed covers under her hands. 

"I trust you to not be completely incompetent."

Hermione quirked a small smile at him, almost able to ignore the fact that she could feel the scars on her cheeks whenever she exercised her face muscles.

_Of course, sir. _

He turned away and moved almost silently down the stairs, waiting for her at the bottom.

Hermione kept a tight grip on the railing, anxiously wondering if he was going to step aside to grant her her comfort distance.

She needn't have worried, as he strode toward the heavy door when she had gotten halfway down.

The door opened with a flick of his fingers. Sturdy looking wooden steps descended into the basement, carefully lit by floating balls of light. They reminded her of white versions of her blue bell flames.

Hermione's stomach clenched as she reached the last step. It was darker in the stone room itself, and in her panic she could hear the scurrying of rats who were just waiting for her to die before dining on her corpse.

The door closed with a thud at the top of the stairs.

The change was instantaneous. 

Hermione immediately retreated into her mind, the barest hint of her conscious still aware of her body. 

Vaguely, she knew she was terrified, but it was as if the feeling only existed beyond the doors of her library. Here, she could be safe. Safe with the calm quiet of her own mind (regardless of the underlying sense of unease), safe with the pretty pink shell she had found that morning, safe with her thick, fuzzy blanket covering her shoulders.

Hermione's confusion grew.

She didn't have a blanket like that at Malfoy Manor. If she did, maybe she would feel safe enough to sleep.

_Little One_, came a faint voice. It grew louder the more she focused. _Come back now. It is June 15th and you are at the safe house on the beach. You are safe._

Hermione tilted her head.

_Good_, the soft voice said. _Feel the sun on your skin, the weight of your blanket. Do you feel Crookshanks purring?_

She managed to twitch a nod, though the feeling was muffled.

"Feel the shell in your hands," the voice said out loud.

Everything felt dizzy, blurred, out of reach. 

"You picked it out this morning, I believe. Feel the ridges and dips. Are you with me?"

Hermione blinked, trying to focus on Professor Snape. She felt empty but for the anxiety that was creeping back in. 

Squeezing the shell in her hands felt...odd. A soft gasp left her lips when one of the rounded spikes dug into her palm. The pain helped ground her.

"Easy," the professor said, holding up a hand. "Be gentle. May I have your permission to squeeze your hand?"

Still out of it, Hermione nodded, head heavy.

"Can you feel this?"

She felt as her hand was squeezed, so she nodded.

"What about this?"

One finger tapped her inner wrist; she twitched. It was a sensitive area.

Hermione nodded more firmly, finally registering the sun room she was in.

Her eyes landed on the sight of her hand clasped in Snape's. Before she could jerk it away, he lowered it gently to rest on her knee.

"Drink this," Snape said, holding out a glass of water. 

Her hand shook, but she managed to drink without spilling. It was cool and pleasant in her mouth.

"Can you tell me what triggered this?" the professor asked.

Hermione cautiously replayed the scene for him to view, flashing him with memories of her cellar at the manor.

"Ah," he breathed, eyes widening. "My apologies, Miss - Hermione. I will do my best to avoid that in future. Should you decide to reenter the potions lab at a later date, it will not have the same...ambiance. Please forgive my lack of foresight."

Crookshanks nudged Hermione's thigh to get her attention. 

You didn't know, she projected. 

His face clearly said he thought he should have, but he let it be.

Hermione tugged her heavy kneazle so the front half of his body rested on her lap. Alternately petting him and squeezing/tracing the shell seemed to clear away the rest of the cotton stuffed in her head.

Professor Snape lifted himself from his crouched position and settled on the chair in front of her.

_Will you summon some parchment and a quill from my room? I need to write a few letters and I would prefer to stay sitting._

He didn't respond verbally, but raised his wand. A few seconds later, a small stack of parchment, a quill, and an ink pot fluttered in.

_Dear Harry and Ron,_  
_I miss you both. Thank you for coming to say goodbye to me, and I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to write.  
I'm doing much better! I'm only on a few potions nowadays and I feel great._

Hermione felt only a little bit bad about the lie.

_I'm staying at a beach house, and it's gorgeous! I'm including some shells and sand dollars I found on the beach. I can hear the waves constantly, but it is soothing. Like a constant sound machine. _  
_How has your summer been so far? Harry, I'm so glad you got to stay with the Weasley's all summer. I know you will have a great time. Ron, I know you haven't started your summer homework yet. Get to it! _  
_I hope this letter finds you both well. I miss you both._  
_Love,_  
_Hermione_

Hermione set her quill down, considering her letter. She was surprised that the Fidelius around the property allowed her to talk about the beach. It must have been just vague enough.  
Setting her letter aside to dry, Hermione gave Crookshanks a scratch behind his ears.

The unease she felt when she considered writing Ginny crept up again now that it was time. She could be more open with Ginny about certain things, she knew, but that fact only served to make her uncomfortable. Was she expected to confide in Ginny? 

She never wanted to tell anyone, ever.

The fact that people knew already that she was kidnapped and tortured was enough. No one needed to know more than that.

Hermione finally decided on a letter similar to the boys'. 

An idea had been bouncing around her head from the first day of full-consciousness back at Hogwarts.

Hesitantly, Hermione reached out and started a third letter, attempting to non verbally spell it dry (and almost hoping it would be set on fire). 

Alas, the spell failed without any damage to the parchment. 

Huffing, Hermione angled it so Professor Snape wouldn't see who it was addressed to. She was sure he would find her behavior suspect, but he wouldn't ask. She hoped.

Hermione felt the rush of anxiety she'd been pushing down rise up in her chest again. She'd managed to distract herself with the letters, but now that it was done she found herself clammy and twitching. 

Knocking on the table to get Professor Snape's attention, Hermione pushed forth a question.

_How will I send these?_ She asked, gesturing to the letters. _I can't exactly tell Parisa where to go._

"Parisa is a very intelligent bird," Severus responded out loud. He marked his place in the book with a finger. "You must merely push your intentions toward her with each letter."

Hermione was impressed but not surprised. Magical creatures seemed to have a certain intelligence about them, like they saw things humans would never consider. 

The noise of her shifting on the couch brought Professor Snape's eyes back up to her, but only for a moment. She was merely snuggling down, not ready to leave the comfort of the warm, sunny room with the weight of her furry companion on her lap.

She was too anxious to fall asleep but tired enough not to care as long as she got to close her eyes.

The only noise in the room was soft breathing, pages turning, and the occasional purr or twitch from Crookshanks.

Hermione had somehow managed to relax into a not-quite-asleep-but-definitely-not-awake state when movement from the other side of the room roused her.

"Go back to sleep," Severus said quietly. "I will wake you when it is time for lunch."

Not asleep, she mumbled into his mind, eyes still closed.

Because of that, she missed his eyes widening in shocked awe at the effortless communication. He himself needed eye contact to initiate communication, but Hermione had done it with her eyes closed and mostly asleep.

She would be gifted in one of the most difficult arts to learn, because of course she was. 

_______

"Please be ready by 11," Professor Snape reminded. "Poppy is expecting us."

_Yes, sir._

Hermione made her way out to the shed where Parisa was waiting. Crookshanks was winding around her legs with every step. 

Parisa hooted softly when Hermione opened the door. She smiled at the beautiful bird and tried to push her intentions toward her like Severus had instructed. Hermione even showed her the names in case it would help, only feeling mildly idiotic. 

Hermione watched Parisa fly away until she was a speck above the ocean.

As she contemplated her appointment the next day, Hermione snuggled down into her bed. Crookshanks was batting at a homemade cat toy made of a ripped pillow case tied into knots.  
She wasn't used to the empty space in her mouth by any means and it would definitely be a relief to have that muscle back. 

While the discomfort of growing her tongue back was not something she was looking forward to, it would be worthwhile. 

Hermione shook her head, dispelling her wandering thoughts. No ropes restricted her movements, no crazy wizards and witches were surrounding her, and she was safe. 

________

“Hello, dear,” Madame Pomfrey greeted, smiling. “Oh, look at you. Your color is so much better.”

I’ve been spending my time outside, Hermione admitted.

“Are you remembering sun cream?” 

Madame Pomfrey ushered her to a bed. 

Hermione smiled sheepishly. _I’m afraid not._

“Well, make sure you remember, you hear? Sun burns are particularly painful over healing skin.”

Hermione’s smile fell. Most of the time, she was able to avoid looking in the mirror. It wasn’t like she could see her reflection in the rushing waves, and she kept her gaze away from the bathroom mirror. If it wasn’t for the sensation of the tight skin stretching every time she utilized her facial muscles, she wouldn’t have known. 

As it was, it couldn’t be ignored. 

“Alright, dear girl,” Madame Pomfrey said, setting a tray down on the bedside table. “I will save the Myogro for last. Right now, all we are going to do is check up on those scars and the bruise on your thigh, okay?”

Hermione nodded. 

Madame Pomfrey held out a hospital gown. “You know the drill.”

Hermione was quick to change and escape back to the warmth of the main room. For some reason, the infirmary bathrooms were freezing.

Trying not to squirm took all her focus while Madam Pomfrey checked her over. 

Finally, she was done and Hermione could get dressed in her favorite zip up hoodie and joggers.

Professor Snape was there when she left the drafty bathroom, sitting on the bed next to Hermione’s. 

“This is a nutrition potion,” Madame Pomfrey said, holding up a sunny yellow potion that looked, frankly, poisonous. “I want you to take it before the Myogro. You won’t be able to eat for the rest of the day, and I can’t let you sleep while you regrow that specific muscle,” she admitted regretfully.

“There is a possibility you could swallow your tongue.” 

Hermione’s face must have shown her disgust and discomfort because Madame Pomfrey gave her a reassuring smile.

“Are you ready?”

Hermione nodded, swallowing the potions given to her. The Myogro tasted disgustingly metallic, but she forced down the bile rising in her throat. It would be pointless if she threw it right up.

“Breathe,” Snape said.

Hermione inhaled shakily, happily taking the water Madame Pomfrey offered. 

“Here is the list we discussed,” Madame Pomfrey said, placing a folded piece of parchment on Hermione’s bed. 

Hermione nodded without looking at the matron. She didn’t want to see her disgust.

After taking a portkey back to the beach house, Hermione made her way up to her room with the excuse of changing her clothes. Snape definitely knew she was lying, but knowing and admitting out loud were two different things.

She perched delicately on the edge of her bed, holding the parchment in her hands. She drew her fingertip on the edge of the parchment, stealing herself for the answers she was about to receive. 

With one final deep breath, Hermione opened the parchment and read the words that were inscribed to her skin forever.

Unclean, lust, livestock, barren, thief, weed, whore, mallady, anguish, peasant, destruction, evil.

It took several moments to register, but once it did it was like a freight train had crashed into her. 

Her breath froze in her lungs. 

The parchment crumpled in her fist, but Hermione was focused on making herself stay in her body. She didn’t want Severus to come up and see the list. 

How could someone think that about another person, much less carve it into their skin?

She wanted it off, she wanted it out. 

She never wanted anyone to see. 

The bathroom door banged closed just in time for Hermione to lean over the bin and throw up everything in her stomach. She couldn’t even wonder if the potion had absorbed enough to regrow her tongue, too busy choking on sobs. 

As soon as her stomach stopped trying to crawl out her throat, Hermione pushed herself up on the edge of the sink and threw off her hoodie and shirt. She turned around to see her back where the scars had calmed into a bright pink, standing out in stark contrast to her white skin. 

The runes weren’t any that she’d seen before, but now that she knew what they meant, they disgusted her.

With a harsh sob, Hermione yanked her shirt back on, compulsively needing to hide her skin. 

Calm down, calm down, she demanded herself tearfully. Her breath hitched. 

A knock sounded on the bathroom door.

“Do you need assistance?” Professor Snape’s voice filtered through the wood.

Hermione quickly washed cold water over her face and swished her mouth. The door opened easily under her hand, revealing Professor Snape’s cool expression.

_I got sick_, Hermione told him, hoping she wouldn’t need to swallow another dose of Myogro. Her breath was still hitching, but she managed to shove the urge to cry away long enough to look the professor in the eye.

“Madame Pomfrey said it was a possibility,” he said calmly. “The potion has had a sufficient amount of time to absorb. You will not need another dose.”

Hermione slumped in relief. 

“I am going out to the garden, if you would like company,” he said, obviously uncomfortable. 

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes with her sweater sleeves. 

Yes, alright, she agreed. If anything, spending time outside with him might help distract her. 

And if she stumbled once on the way down the stairs, well, he wasn’t going to mention it.


	10. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this is late. I know that this chapter is really short, and I'm so sorry if that disappoints anyone. I let my parents talk me into lowering my depression meds against my psychiatrists advice, and I've barely been able to work, much less find the energy to write. I'm scheduled to go back up on them in a few days. 
> 
> Thank you all for your incredible patience. Love you guys.
> 
> **TW:** Nightmares, medical stuff (kinda?), torture, vomit.  
As usual, let me know if there's anything I missed!

Parisa wasn’t back yet, but Hermione suspected she would be soon. She was both dreading and looking forward to the responses from her friends. 

A reply from Draco seemed incredibly unlikely.

“Hand me that spade, please.” 

Severus’ voice interrupted her pondering.

Hermione reached for the tool, feeling grounded by the roughness of the handle. 

Professor Snape took it silently.

Hermione was content to pull up weeds in the quiet. The ocean was a constant rush in the background, and it was hard to be bothered by the silence when it wasn’t complete. 

Swallowing against the burning in her throat, aggravated by being sick, Hermione focused on the weeds in front of her and the playfulness of her familiar, batting at flies and hissing at his wind-ruffled fur. He seemed to be trying to figure out who was doing it.

She shifted to have better leverage over the stubborn weed. Her perch was precarious at best. Crookshanks leapt at a passing butterfly and missed, the force of their collision pushing her forwards onto her hands and knees. Hermione’s head knocked against the professor’s.

A gruff sort of groan escaped Severus, Hermione noticed through ringing ears. In her attempt to prevent another accident, she fell flat on her bottom in the dirt. Letting out a little oof, Hermione raised a hand to her forehead.

Across from her, Severus was rubbing the back of his head where she’d hit him.

_Sorry!_ She waved her free hand to both get his attention and emphasize her point.

“That damned cat,” he grumbled, glaring at the feline in question. He had a streak of dirt on his pale face, right by his ear. 

Crookshanks walked away, tail in the air, pretending like nothing had happened.

Hermione smiled, though her eyes were watering a little from pain. 

_Sorry, Professor,_ she said, wrapping her hands in her sweater sleeves. 

“Never you mind, it wasn’t your fault,” he said stiffly. He raised his hand and rubbed at his cheek.

Hermione couldn’t help a tiny, barely there giggle at the sight of smeared dirt all over his cheek.

The professor’s eyes shot up, surprise visible before he tramped it down. 

“Something funny, Hermione?”

She shook her head, but pointed at his cheek. The professor conjured a mirror, looked at his reflection, and hissed something about cats. Despite all that, he left the dirt smear and continued on with his task. 

A few uneventful minutes later, a strange stinging sensation started up her throat. Hermione shifted in discomfort. After a few minutes of this, Professor Snape conjured a glass and some water, holding it out for her to take.

“It will soothe your throat.”

She accepted it with a nod of thanks. Her throat and mouth felt like it was on fire, an all too familiar feeling. Swallowing the water was difficult but the coolness of it felt nice. Hermione gave up on weeding and pulled the collar of her sweater away from her neck. 

Severus’s cooling charm couldn’t stop Hermione from anxiously sweating. Was it supposed to feel like this? The professor seemed to realize what she was feeling when he had given her the water, so maybe it was. 

She took another sip and cleared her throat after.

“After this, you won’t be able to have another until it is fully regrown.”

Hermione nodded.

Throughout the rest of the night, Hermione struggled not to puke at her gag reflex’s response to her regrowing tongue. When the stinging finally stopped and Professor Snape gave her clearance to sleep, she retreated hastily to her room with Crookshanks winding around her feet. 

Regrowing her tongue was almost worse than losing it.  
_____

Hermione screamed as Voldemort searched the recesses of her mind. It felt like a battering ram from the inside, going in all directions. 

He screamed in frustration as he retreated. 

“How? How does a Mudblood have this power?” 

Hermione didn’t even have a chance to catch her breath.

“Crucio!”

Hermione convulsed, her head slamming back onto the floor as she screamed. Pain as she had never known it flooded her body, snipping nerve endings and shattering bones, all with one word. When the pain ended she was both more conscious of her body than she’d ever been and the most numb.

She felt something holding her down, and her eyes flashed open to see an outline of a person over her in the dark room.

Tears made tracks down her sweaty face as she struggled to fight the person holding her down.

“Shh, Hermione,” Severus’ low voice said soothingly. “It’s me, Severus. You’re right here at the cottage.You’re right here,” he whispered.

Her muscles spasmed and tightened, wanting to convulse, but not being able to because of Severus’ weight. Her breath came in painful gasps as the muscles around her lungs constricted.

“Shh,” Severus said softly. His hands were around her wrists, holding them to the bed, and he used as much of his body as he could to hold hers still. “It’s alright, now.”

He held her until her convulsing turned to twitching and air came and left in a shuddering breath. He released her wrists and shifted his weight off of her and onto the floor. Her breath started to gasp again, and he leaned down.

“What can I do?” he asked.

_Stay_, she whispered in his mind. She reached a violently shaking hand out to grasp his robe. She couldn’t feel it. _Please._

“As you wish,” Severus said, settling beside her bed, politely ignoring her hand fisted in the fabric of his robe. 

Panic made the room seem blurred, somehow. 

“Breathe with me,” the professor said. 

She could feel his breaths against her hand, the soft fabric rubbing. Lungs hitching, Hermione attempted to copy him. Nausea pulsed through her so strongly her mouth watered.

_I might throw up._

“That’s ok,” said Snape as he conjured a bucket. He immediately went back to breathing steadily.

Hermione did end up throwing up, but they were both prepared. Snape held the bucket up and pushed her hair back. She choked, body trying to cry and breath and vomit at the same time. Severus cast something that cleared her airways and Hermione sucked in a breath, coughing painfully. A trail of fire was burning all the way from her stomach to her sinuses. 

“Are you done?” Snape asked, not unkindly. 

She nodded.

Severus released her hair, allowing it to swing forward over her shoulder where she was leaning her head and shoulders off the edge of the bed. He vanished her sick and conjured a glass of water, allowing Hermione’s arm to be a dead weight stretching his robe’s fabric.

When Hermione realized what she was doing she jerked her hand away. 

_Sorry_, she said immediately.

“I would have stopped you if it bothered me,” he replied calmly. 

Hermione sipped the cold water, allowing it to soothe her throat. Her hand was shaking so badly that she spilled water down the front of her jumper. 

Severus reached out slowly, allowing her to see his hand coming. Carefully, he placed his hand over hers on the glass, allowing her to drink without incident. 

Belatedly, Hermione realised his touch was cool. 

He took it back when she was finished, setting it on her bedside table. 

Hermione jumped when she felt tiny feet hit her legs. 

“He was trying to wake you when I came in,” she heard the professor say.

Hermione sat up dizzily and scooped up her purring pet. Burying her face in his fur was a relief until oxygen became urgent. 

_Sorry to wake you,_ she said blankly, toying with the bedspread seam.

“Put it from your mind,” he replied. 

Her body felt heavy and she wanted to lay down, but the thought of going back to sleep when her muscles were still spasming was singularly unpleasant. 

_Can you open the window, please?_

He didn’t reply as he did what she’d asked. The cool night air brushed against her face, drying both sweat and tears. With an exhale, Hermione leaned back against her headboard, shifting until she couldn’t feel her scars rubbing against her shirt. She ended up leaning just her shoulder and scrunching down so her head could rest, too.

Hermione dragged Crookshanks up to lay in front of her chest, and with unusual docility, he complied. She glanced up, seeing Severus staring at a spot on the bed.  
She didn’t have the mental capacity to process what he’d done for her at that moment, so she pushed it off until the following morning and followed her body’s demand to slip down the rest of the way.

Severus aimed his wand at her blanket, and she felt it untangle from her legs and come to rest gently over her shoulders. Her favorite green blanket was on top.

As if recognizing the safety, her eyes closed without her permission. 

“You’re safe,” Severus said quietly from his position on the floor.

Logically she knew that, but her sleeping mind seemed bound and determined to remind her that she hadn’t been strong enough. Turning her face to her freshened pillow, Hermione wondered how long he would stay. He couldn’t be comfortable. 

Was he expecting her to go to sleep? Despite closing her eyes, Hermione knew that if she dared allow herself to drift off, she would twitch herself awake again. It was hopeless, but she didn’t have the energy to do anything but lay there.

_You can go, if you want_, she told Severus. _Thank you for waking me._

“I will go if that is what you wish,” he said, ignoring her thanks altogether. 

_I’m just going to lay here. You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable._

You’ve done enough, she wanted to say.

He leaned back on his hands, as if to prove his comfort level.

“What do you need?” he asked intently.

Hermione’s face flushed weakly. _Stay_, she whispered. 

Having him there felt like another, better safety blanket. She was shocked, in a muffled way, when he lay down on his back, arms crossed behind his head. She stared for a moment and closed her eyes quickly when he raised an eyebrow without looking at her. Hermione buried her face in Crookshanks’ fur again, feeling small.

Time seemed to drift after that. The professor’s breathing combined with the rush of the waves was enough to allow her to drift in between sleeping and waking, trusting the little voice that told her she was safe.


End file.
